


Leap

by Xenobotanist



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Adoption, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cardassian Anatomy, Cardassian Culture, Claiming Bites, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Engagement, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Introspection, Loneliness, Love Confessions, M/M, Marking, Mental Anguish, Orphans, Touch-Starved, Wedding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: When Garak's loneliness gets the best of him, Dr. Bashir sets out to prove that he isn't truly alone. Together, they navigate the trials of a swift and passionate relationship, taking several leaps in a short period of time.---Takes place near the end of season 6.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Jadzia Dax, Julian Bashir & Miles O'Brien, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 176
Kudos: 204





	1. Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak has a rough patch, and Julian finds him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This began as a therapeutic piece. Craving companionship and touch myself, I was relating heavily to Garak. I don't have anyone to provide a supportive hug, but I could at least put myself in his place and get HIM a hug.  
> Along the way, a story developed. Most of it is complete, and I'll post each chapter after it's beta'd.
> 
> 1/17/21 edit: If you're like me and return to various stories just for the 'E' sections, that would be: chapters 3, 6, 9, 13, 17, 18, and 22.

Garak stared at the tunic held loosely in his grip. His hands under the fabric trembled. It was just a small rip. But it couldn’t be mended. The material was too delicate, and any sort of stitching would be glaringly visible. A waste. Trash. 22 hours of labor for nothing. He knew he should set it down, sweep it aside. Take it to the replicator and vanish it, or cut it into smaller pieces for use on another garment.

But he couldn’t. His hands wouldn’t release; his legs wouldn’t move. 

All he’d wanted to do was make an outfit for the Cardassian summer solstice. Every 11 years was a special occasion, and he’d wanted to have a minor celebration of his own, even if he was no longer on Cardassia. 

It shouldn’t matter. It wasn’t like he had anyone to share the experience with. There wasn’t anyone to split a perek blossom cake with, or to lie on a rooftop and count the kivvits that flapped overhead at sunset. A holoprogram couldn’t accurately reproduce the ambiance anyway, so his venture was doomed from the start. He didn’t know why he’d even tried.

A deep, raw, feeling clawed at his chest, and it took him a moment to acknowledge the sensation before mercilessly crushing it. No. He was stronger than this. He’d been shot, pummeled, suffocated, crushed, and guls knew what else. Being cold and understimulated was just a nuisance in comparison to all of that. And so what if the lights were too bright? It wasn’t any different than visiting a planet with a younger sun than his own. Maybe he should consider those darkened contacts the doctor had suggested.

How he missed the implant.

He could have dug the seam ripper into a fingertip, or maybe a wrist, and let the sting be carried away with a rush of endorphins that would flush his system and ease… whatever this melancholy feeling was. He refused to name it.

Reluctantly, he stared down at the tunic. The golden-yellow fabric faded into a rusty orange and then a deeper, ocher red. It had been so beautiful. As soon as he’d seen the roll in a merchant’s inventory, he’d wanted it. The colors were so close to the sands in the Me’ar hills at dusk, when the turf and sky blended together so that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. 

And now it was… ruined.

A dark circle appeared on one of the folds. Another joined it. His hands clenched reflexively as he frantically tried to regain control. He couldn’t be crying. Agents of the Obsidian Order do not cry. Good, strong Cardassians do not cry. Elim Garak, Son of Tain, did not cry. 

But the feeling creeping up his back and over his shoulders, seeping into his scalp, and prickling behind his eyes refused to relent.

It wasn’t about the fabric. That had been a poor substitution. Something he could wrap around himself and pretend was another living being. Something that reminded him of home, of living in the comfort of familiar surroundings, of having people around who understood you, who believed in you, who cared about you (in their own way). 

He’d wanted, if only briefly, for one day, to not be lonely.

Participating in the summer solstice would have made him feel like part of a group again, knowing that light years away, others would be performing the same ablutions when the sun reached its zenith, listening to the silence at the hottest point of the day, and chanting the same mantras every time they sat down facing west.

In a rush of anger, he flung the tunic away, wanting to see it fly off and crumple in a pile on the floor behind his workstation. Instead, it fluttered gently on the air currents, rippling and wavering slowly to the ground. Denied the dramatic display he’d craved, he crumpled instead. Falling into a squat, he bowed his head and let his shoulders sag. One arm rested on a knee, the other hand braced lightly on the floor. Sobs wracked through him. They crashed like waves from behind, shoving him forward as if to drown him in the surf. Hot, sharp tears flowed down his cheeks as everything blurred before him. Closing his eyes actually burned, but he couldn’t keep them open anymore. He squeezed the lids tighter, willing them to hold in the evidence of his misery and shame.

Why?

Why did he have to be alone? Exiled? Was what he’d done really so bad as to warrant such a lengthy, soul-crushing separation from the rest of his people? Others had done amazingly worse, betrayed far more people, failed more miserably at tasks. Why had his particular lapse in judgement been considered the greatest evil? It disturbed him that he still held no answer. And with Tain gone, he likely never would. 

Pain lanced through his throat, his chest, his abdomen. It was a despair so fierce that he felt it physically, a fire of agony through his torso that stole his breath.

He slid forward onto his shins, tucking his feet under and bracing himself with his hands on his knees. The sobs slowly tapered off, but tears still trickled freely down his cheeks and neck, dripping on and off to form a wet patch across his thighs. 

It might have almost been tolerable if it wasn’t for the damn Bajorans. They were such an open, demonstrative people. Always touching and hugging, holding hands. Kissing in public settings. It felt like they were flaunting their affections in his face, exhibiting their emotional connections and delight that they shared amongst each other, all while he had no one to even _look_ at of his own kind, much less come into contact with. All day long: they embraced each other outside the temple as he went into work in the morning; they entered his shop with their arms about their lovers’ waists; they gave polite pecks of greeting at lunch in the replimat; they carried their children on their shoulders in the evenings after a long day at work. 

Despite, or perhaps because of, the abject horror of the Occupation, their bonds were stronger than ever. It seemed as if every Bajoran had an immense circle of friends and chosen families. People to call on. To rely on. To watch their backs. Garak wasn’t sure he’d ever had that in the first place, and yet he missed it with all the fibers of his being.

It made him stew with indignation and irritation, his muscles clenching into rock-like hardness under his skin. How dare they parade their casual use of physical and emotional intimacy in the faces of individuals with no such equivalent. 

Several pinpoints of fire in his thighs brought him out of his reverie. He’d dug his nails into the skin through the fabric of his trousers. Blinking, he realized that the tears had stopped, leaving a gritty gum around his eyes. He growled in disgust. Not just at the uncomfortable sensation, but at himself. At the indulgence he’d allowed, wallowing in anguish. How revolting. 

“Garak?” 

He instantly recognized the soft yet firm tone of the voice behind him and froze. How could he explain this away? “Ah, Doctor. I was just looking for a few pins that I dropped.” Good. His voice was calm, clear, and sturdy. 

He could hear Bashir’s uniform crinkle as he lowered himself to the floor a few feet away. “Keiko and Nerys came in and saw--” He took a breath. “Um, they came and got me.”

Garak hated the pool of heat that flooded his chest. The thought that they’d gone to this man, told him that the tailor was in distress, and he’d come immediately… Garak wanted so desperately to know that this human cared about him. To believe he _meant_ something to someone, even if it was only one person, even if they weren’t even his own race. He hastily wiped at his face, clearing away all traces of his episode. “Oh, no need to bother. I only suffered a minor setback that had me rather flustered. Nothing that can’t be fixed,” he lied smoothly. He leaned to the side, ready to stand up, when a hand landed on his back, just below the shoulder. It felt heavy and unyielding, anchoring him in place.

There was a shuffling sound as the doctor moved closer. The hand ran down his spine and back up again in a few comforting strokes. “What’s going on, Garak? What happened?” He didn’t sound polite or distant, like a counselor coaxing a confession from a patient. He sounded… concerned. Sympathetic. As if the answer truly mattered to him, personally.

But why would he care? Why would a human from Starfleet, a gifted scientist and surgeon with scandalously good looks care about a washed-up exile of dubious ethics and plain features? “I told you, Doctor. Just a small mistake. I seem to have torn a bit of fabric and dropped a few implements, that’s all.” He dabbed around the floor in front of him, as if feeling for tiny pins. One hand clutched at the fallen tunic and pulled it into his lap before the doctor could get a good look at it.

“Garak, do Cardassians hug?”

What sort of question was that, and where did it come from?

“I mean, I saw Gilora give that small kiss to Chief O’Brien, and Quark and Natima seemed awfully cuddly, but… I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Cardassian hug someone before. Is that a thing?”

Garak wasn’t sure what the change of topic had to do with anything, but he was glad for the deflection from having to explain what happened, so he answered readily. “Why, of course we do. Cardassians are quite fond of physical intimacy, as it helps to retain heat between bodies. On Prime, it’s not unusual to see an entire family engaged in a lengthy embrace.” He wanted to stand up and face the man he was speaking to, even if only to stare him in the eyes long enough to make him back down from the intrusion and possibly leave him in peace. 

“You know, I don’t even care if that’s the truth or not,” Bashir sighed. Garak’s deliberation halted. Surely his thoughts and the doctor’s were not even on the same page. What was the doctor getting on about?

Suddenly, there was a chest pressed up against his back, arms wrapped around his middle, and a head on his shoulder.

His first instinct was to flee. To roughly pry those limbs off and shove them away, forcing as much distance between him and his attacker as possible.

But another part, something in a different but equally instinctual part of his brain, held him in place. Made him lean back, just the tiniest bit. To his surprise, a shuddery breath escaped him.

The arms tightened their hold for a brief moment, a hug within the hug. A ripple of _something_ moved through him, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to resume crying or maybe start laughing. The face pressed into the back of his shoulder rubbed a little, as if the doctor was nuzzling him. “Doctor?” His voice was breathier and more hesitant than he would have liked.

“You’re not alone, Garak.” He could feel the jaw open and close as it spoke behind him, and the words hummed into his skin and muscle. “I don’t know what’s going on, or what upset you, but you don’t have to suffer by yourself. You can talk to me, you know.” 

How appallingly sentimental. He ought to toss this presumptuous pup out the door for daring to intimate that he was weak or incapable of dealing with something so trivial as loneliness. 

But Bashir was so _warm_. Heat radiated from every inch of the long, lanky body that he wanted to soak in it like a hot spring. He could feel the warmth seeping out from the form draped over his back, from the arms wrapped around his waist, even from the scalp beneath the mane of hair that faintly tickled his neck. 

Oh, how he’d craved this. How he’d dreamed about it. To be _held_. To feel his heartbeat slow and his breaths deepen, for muscles to unclench and teeth to stop grinding. Unbidden, tears pricked in the corners of his eyes again.

Bashir sniffled behind him. 

“Oh. God, Garak. I’m sorry.” His voice fluttered, and he inhaled shakily. “I’m supposed to be consoling you, and instead I’m--” Something between a sob and a hiccup interrupted him. He started to pull away, only for Garak’s hand to grasp an arm and hold him in place.

Garak looked down, startled by the betrayal of his own body. 

“Okay,” Bashir said quietly, answering a command the Cardassian hadn’t verbally spoken. "Okay," he repeated. He shimmied for a few seconds, settling down on folded legs, a knee on each side of Garak’s hips. Lifting his head, he pressed the sides of the faces together, temple to temple, cheek to aural ridges. Being of similar heights, they matched well, fitting together perfectly. 

Garak had to steel himself to keep from rubbing against the human in return. As it was, the humid breath on his skin was sending several conflicting and nearly-forgotten sensations through his core. His thumb slowly stroked up and down, massaging the bony wrist it held. With that simple acknowledgement, he suddenly wanted _more_. He wanted to touch and never stop. To be touched. He wanted to brush his fingers over bare skin, to feel tremors pass beneath the surface, to have the gestures appreciated and returned.

All it would take was one word. A name. Spoken at any volume, with any intonation. It would be like flipping a switch. So easily done, so eagerly welcomed, so immediately changing everything that had ever passed between them.

“Julian.”

The body behind him tensed, froze, but did not withdraw. Bashir swallowed audibly. “E-Elim?”

To have this man murmur his name, his true name… “I--”

He didn’t know what to say.

Lips pressed to his cheek, tightening his chest and igniting a spark much lower down. A whisper in his ear. “Let’s go somewhere with more privacy. My quarters. I’ve worked so much overtime that I’m owed several hours off. I can take the rest of the day, and...”

Several hours.

At the very least, it would save Garak the embarrassment of being found like this by anyone else. “Alright. Why don’t you go ahead first, and I’ll join you in ten minutes.” It’d give him time to close up the shop, and maybe pull himself together.

The answer was deep and firm. “No. We walk out of here together or not at all. If you stay behind, you’ll talk yourself out of this.”

How well he knew Garak.

Bashir untangled himself and stood, reaching a hand out to the tailor. Garak accepted it, grateful for the help off the unforgiving floor. His companion took advantage of the grasp, pulling him forward until they were chest to chest. His instincts clamored for attention, claiming that he should be watching the door for intruders, but he couldn’t draw his gaze from the olive eyes that dragged him in until closing as their lips met. They were the softest lips he’d ever felt, and possibly the sweetest, and the kiss was over much too soon. Bashir stepped back with a small, crooked smirk. “C’mon.”

They walked hand-in-hand to the door, letting go for Garak to lock up, only for him to find out that the command had already been given from an outside source. No customers would have disturbed them, after all. Bashir’s eyebrows raised when he looked at him. “It wasn’t me.” Mostly likely, the doors had been locked from Ops. He’d have to figure out who did it, and their motivation behind the action. Later.

They both turned towards the exit, pausing. A step through would be another point of no return. A journey with a fixed destination, a predetermined course of action. An inevitable conclusion.

They moved forward.


	2. Leap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian and Garak have a talk that goes beyond any of their lunch conversations

The walk to the turbolift was silent but swift. Bashir’s long legs carried him easily, and Garak could move quickly when the situation called for it. Which it did. He imagined they both looked rather graceful, if impatient. What an odd but appropriate pair they made.

When they reached the habitat ring, he was pleasantly surprised to feel the doctor’s hand upon the small of his back, guiding him confidently out of the lift and towards his quarters. It remained there for most of the trip, falling away only to admit them entrance to his living space. 

Once inside, Bashir headed towards the couch. He sat down in one corner and motioned to the other. “I… I think we should talk first.”

Garak’s throat tightened. “Haven’t we talked enough, Doctor?” Surely the past several years had to count for something.

The human gave him a stern, no-nonsense look. “We haven’t talked about _this._ ” 

Garak sighed but seated himself. He should have known that the young doctor wouldn’t settle for a simple, uncomplicated joining. He was both pleased and dismayed. On the one hand, it meant that Bashir took their relationship seriously, and may even feel more than friendly affection for him. On the other hand, he had a feeling the human was going to bring up some uncomfortable topics that he’d rather not give a name to. But when he stole a glance to the side, the visage greeting him was curiously amused.

“You look so prim there, sitting up nice and straight with your hands between your knees. Garak, this doesn’t have to be _formal.”_ Indeed, Bashir was seated sideways with only one foot on the floor, the other leg curled up in front of him.

Garak wasn’t sure he knew how to contort his body the way humans did. What was the term? _Slouch_. It even sounded unseemly.

Bashir scooted across the cushions until they were nearly touching and rested one arm over the back of the sofa. He appeared so genuinely inquisitive, so benign with his large eyes under a furrowed brow. But then he pounced. “Garak, why were you crying today?”

Automatically on the offensive, he fired back. “The same could be asked of you, Doctor.”

But rather than be offended, Bashir just smiled. “I’ll tell you, but only because I’m hoping it’ll make you feel safe enough to give me an answer back.” His eyes flicked down, then back up, his face suddenly more serious. “It’s been over a year since I’ve seriously been close to anyone. Jadzia and Miles give me a hug now and then, of course, but it’s just something small and off to the side. I miss… curling up with someone. Being held until I fall asleep. Long, deep hugs that seem to melt your worries away, because you know that the person on the other end will be there for you.” He searched Garak’s face for something, some sign, but continued anyway. “Leaning against you felt _so good_ , Garak, and I’ve wanted to be closer to you for ages. I was always afraid you’d push me away, that you wouldn’t want me, or worse would hate me for making you feel vulnerable or putting you in an awkward position.” He huffed. “And I felt incredibly selfish for hugging you, because it was partially for me, too.” His expression was so earnest; Garak was sure he’d never seen the like before. “And then you didn’t push me away, and I realized that I’d only felt like that for a _year._ What if you’d gone through that for even longer? 5 years? A decade? It--it broke my heart.”

“I don’t need your pity, Doctor,” Garak said haughtily. He knew he was on the defensive; too much of what Bashir had said rang true for him. But he couldn’t let his guard down. There was too much at stake.

“I don’t _pity_ you, Garak. Don’t you get it? I _love_ you. My heart broke because the thought of you being so lonely and hurting so much hurt _me._ ” He released a shaky laugh. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured telling you. I had planned on a nice dinner... and chocolates. Maybe flowers. I don’t know. Maybe a walk through the botanical bay, or at a beach in the holosuite. A picnic?” He shook his head. “I guess it’s too late now.”

Garak wanted to tell him that it wasn’t too late; they could still do all of those things. They sounded… lovely. But his mouth was stuck together, suddenly as dry as the Colaxa Desert. 

Bashir slid closer until their legs touched. He hesitantly placed a hand on Garak’s knee. “I… You don’t have to say it back. I just…” He looked away shyly and sighed. Lifting his head, he met Garak’s eyes. “I can’t… I don’t want to be intimate with you unless it means something.” His expression collapsed and he buried his head in his arm. “Fuck,” a muffled voice mumbled into his uniform. “Did I just ruin everything?”

Garak recovered quickly, surprised that seeing the doctor in distress eased his own fears. “Julian.” He could become addicted to the way that name rolled off his tongue. The human looked up. “Julian, come here,” he said huskily. Bashir looked befuddled, seeing as he was already _here_. Garak turned and pulled the slight frame closer until the younger man got the idea and shimmied around to straddle Garak’s lap. He still sat a small distance back, his hands gripping the Cardassian’s upper arms, and Garak resting his hands on the bony hips. They stared into each other for several moments, trying to say with glances what they’d failed to convey with words.

Garak reached up and tucked his hand into the lush brown hair at Bashir’s nape, pulling him down into a kiss. It was short, soft, and almost chaste. Bashir bent forward, resting his forehead against Garak’s own. No one had done that to him in… he actually couldn’t remember how long. The warmth in his chufa felt like a small sun had come to rest in the divot, and for the first time in a decade, he didn’t feel cold.

With a new strength in his bones, he found the courage to say something he never thought he’d be allowed again, certainly not on Cardassia, and never on this horrible station. “I love you too, my dear… dear Julian.”

The grip on his arms tightened as the body against him shook a couple times. The doctor was laughing quietly. “Why did it take us so long to do this?” he muttered quietly.

“I suspect you have just as many reasons as I, my dear.” He brushed absently at the hairs under his fingertips. “Perhaps even some of the same.”

“So. Ah… what now?”

“That is entirely up to you, Doctor..”

Bashir blew air from his lips in an odd sigh. “I’d rather it was a joint decision, if it’s all the same to you.”

“But it isn’t all the same to me. I will accept whatever decision you make. I will take whatever you are willing to give. You may be the only person on this guls-forsaken station willing to have me, but I’m sure you don’t lack for want of possible partners. Surely there are better options than I. But seeing as you appear to be suffering some sort of mental malady, I will remain yours until the madness subsides.”

The doctor sat back. “Three things. One- the only madness that’s come over me is how exasperating you can be during our discussions, especially right now when you’re putting yourself down. Two- I don’t _want_ any of the other options. I _enjoy_ you driving me mad. No one else can challenge me and get me worked up the way you do. And three-” He inched forward, his eyes taking on a gleam, “I think that you want me, and I know that I want you. So why don’t we take this to the bedroom, and we can work out the details?” His smile turned impish. “I do recall you saying that Cardassians ascribe a great deal of attention to detail.”

Garak nearly growled. He could feel the beginning rumble in his chest and quashed it, afraid of frightening the gentleman in his lap. But he did give in enough to lightly nip the smooth jawline. “If you wish, my dear.”

They stood up together, both stretching a little and rubbing bloodflow back into cramped limbs. Bashir took his hand to lead him away just like a Bajoran would, and Garak realized that all of a sudden he didn’t begrudge them the gesture any longer.

“Oh, wait!” The human enthusiastically tugged him into the dining area. “So, I was going to save this for tomorrow, but since you’re here…” He took Garak’s other hand too, and squeezed both, swinging them a little. “I’ve done a lot of research on Cardassian culture, seeing as I’m close friends with a Cardassian who’s told me how superior his civilization is and I ought to learn more about it to better appreciate the literature... and I found out that tomorrow is the 11-year Summer Solstice.” Garak’s heart began to beat harder. “So, I was going to bring you this at lunch.” Bashir let go of his hands to pull something out of the cold storage box. He presented Garak with a small perek blossom cake.

The pastry was a pale pinkish-purple from the petals that had been ground into the batter, and the icing covering only the top was pure white, topped with a scalloped edge and actual candied petals in the center. “Quark charged me a small fortune to smuggle this in from one of the smaller colonies, but I think it was worth it.” 

Garak felt as if he’d been turned into a statue. It was too much for him to process. The cheerily grinning human, the cake that he’d just been thinking of not an hour past, the whole blasted situation. Unable to accept his change in fortune, he blurted out the first thing that came into his head. “But those are only shared among family members.” He cursed himself immediately. He could have just accepted it and eaten the dessert alone the next day. Bashir hadn’t requested a piece for himself.

The human frowned, drawing it back. “I didn’t know that.” Garak’s stomach dropped. Why had he felt the need to spoil such a thoughtful gift? “But really…” He looked back up as Bashir continued. “You kind of are the closest thing I have to family. I mean, you know I don’t really talk to my parents. And Miles has Keiko and the kids. Jadzia has her own family, and she's married to Worf. So they’re both my friends, and they say that I’m _like_ family to them…” He set the cake on the table and gazed at Garak beseechingly. “I suppose that, even though we never really talked about it, and we might not have ever become intimate, I always considered you a fixed part of my life. And now--now--” he broke off, his face going white. “Oh God. Excuse me.” He ran off in the direction of the head.

Perplexed, Garak followed. The door to the refresher was closed, but even through it he could hear the sound of retching. Guls and gils. Was Bashir sick? Was all of this nothing more than a fever-driven delirium? He strode back into the kitchen, desperate to occupy himself with action. He returned the cake to the cold box, determined to tidy up, only for his feet to track him back into the other room. “Julian? Doctor? Are you alright in there?” The sound of washing was his only answer. He paced back and forth until the door hissed open.

Bashir stopped up short, startled to find Garak in the doorway. His breath smelled minty as if he’d used some sort of cleanser. He smiled wanly, still pale and with shiny eyes. “Hi. Um, I’m better now.”

“Are you sure, Doctor?” Garak didn’t know what to make of the sudden change.

Bashir nudged him out of the way and led towards the bed, where he sat on top of the black comforter. Cautiously, Garak followed and took a place by the teal pillows. The human moved nearer, taking both gray hands and drawing them to his chest. “Gar-Elim. Could you tell me again?”

“Tell you what, Doctor?”

“That this is real. That I’m not just dreaming or hallucinating from some alien influence.” He blinked rapidly. “This may sound utterly ridiculous, but I’m terrified. This--this here,” still holding Garak’s hand, he waved back and forth between them, then over the bed, “could change everything. I’ve wanted for so long to… I don’t know. For us to be something more than friends. Even when I imagined you being with me, I never dared think… Could you tell me again that you love me?”

Garak was full of disbelief. Could humans truly make themselves sick just by thought alone? Had Julian really lost control because he was afraid of what was happening between them? That was something he’d never heard of amongst Cardassians. He knew he ought to feel revulsion, but if he was honest with himself (which he hardly ever was), he actually felt relieved. Bashir _did_ care about him. To a point that the cocky, brash façade fell away to reveal the hurting, anxious young man inside. 

Not long ago, he’d considered sentiment one of the greatest weaknesses a fool could suffer. But in this moment, his feelings for Bashir made him feel stronger, knowing that his assurances would console and assuage the human’s unfounded fears. He felt… powerful. With mere words, he could change the course of the future and mend a broken heart. Overwhelmed with tenderness, he tugged the hands holding his downward, coaxing the doctor to lean forward. He kissed Bashir’s forehead where a chufa would be. “I love you, my darling.” When the face raised, he kissed a cheek. “I love you, dear doctor.” The other cheek. “I love you, Julian.” And on the mouth.


	3. Soar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian and Garak take things farther

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some smut just in time for the weekend!  
> I think "first time" is my favorite Garak/Bashir trope. So, of course this is the longest chapter!

As their lips met and parted, Garak darted his tongue out for his first taste. It was everything he’d hoped for and more. Almost unbearably hot, but also smooth, wet, and sweet, with a faint hint of spice. Bashir’s tongue rubbed back, curling over his a few times before sliding past and into his own mouth. As the kiss deepened, their hands began to seek out new placements, running over shoulders, down arms, squeezing hips. They drew together, caressing backs and necks as the space between their chests disappeared. Losing their balance, they tumbled over onto the bed, Garak on top. Bashir moaned into his mouth, greedily licking and sucking away. 

Fingertips worked their way under his tunic, dancing over the scales on his back and abdomen. They tugged ineffectually at the tunic, trying to separate or lift the material off. Smiling smugly to himself that he still retained a few mysteries around the doctor, he unhooked a clasp at his side and behind his back. The garment literally fell open, eliciting a pleased mutter from his companion. Bashir’s hand eagerly ran up his torso, massaging his pectorals and sliding back down again. “Good god, Elim, you’re _amazing_.” He traced a finger up the central ridge, pausing at the inverted raindrop under his throat. “What is this called?”

“It’s one of the three Chu’en, the first being my chufa, the focus for my mind.” Garak pointed to the shape on his head. The one you’re--ah--rubbing is the chula, the spiritual or emotional center.” 

“Hmm. So, when I do this--” he swirled a tight circle with his fingertip, “am I touching your spirit?” 

“Not--not quite,” Garak panted. The nerves in his chest were sending urgent signals southward.

Bashir raised himself, flicking his tongue into the depression. “Then, when I do this, I’m not licking your… spirit?”

“Yes! Oh yes, you are,” Garak cried out as rays of pleasure emanated from the point. He felt like he _ought_ to be ashamed of his reaction, but found that he really couldn’t care less. The only one there to judge him was the one eliciting the response. “Although… that’s usually only done between couples. Close couples. Courting, or enjoined.” The doctor gave him an enigmatic stare for a moment before wandering lower.

“And there’s another one down here.” Bashir touched the tip of a ridge peeking out from the waist of his trousers.

Garak hissed, the muscles in his entire lower torso clenching. 

“Hullo there,” Bashir murmured. He pushed the material downward, exposing the final of the three sacred crests. “And this one?”

“The chuva. I’m sure you’re bright enough to determine its significance.”

“Yes, I think I can fathom a few ideas.” The human hummed discontentedly. “Although I’m not really in the proper position to appreciate it. Here, let’s move around a bit.” They shuffled about the bed, mussing the blanket, until Bashir was content. Garak was now on his back, with the curious doctor kneeling over him. “The chuva,” he said quietly. Locking eyes with the man under him, he held out a single finger, hovering it over the crest. “Can you feel that?”

A faint cloud of heat filled the center of the structure. “Yes,” Garak gasped. The pad of the finger came to rest. Molten fire began to fill his ajan.

“And this?”

Garak hissed again, this time intentionally and with force.

“I see. Would you mind if I…” Bashir wiggled backward, lowering his face toward the quivering abdomen. When no answer was forthcoming, he stopped.

A flare of irritation made Garak consider snipping at him. Or scratching. Or biting. “By all means, my dear, go ahead,” he gritted out. The heat of aggravation immediately transmuted into rapture as lips met skin. Bashir’s mouth formed a little “O,” outlining the edges of the crest. His breath filled it up, puffing fire and moisture into the divot over and over again. A whimper escaped him.

When the much-anticipated tongue finally touched down, Garak’s back arched and he cried out again. He collapsed as the muscles released, only to have his legs tighten when the tongue began to flick up and down frantically. Where in the empty reaches had he learned _that_? Garak’s hands clawed at the sheet as the pressure inside his ajan increased. A drop of his nectar escaped, trickling down inside his underclothes. He was going to bloom soon, and he wasn’t even undressed. Bashir was still fully clothed!

“Wai-Stop. Oh please,” Garak gasped. A questioning face looked up at him. “I want to see you too. Let me explore your body as well.” Bashir didn’t budge. Still meeting his gaze, he took an experimental lick. Garak’s hips bucked. “Doctor!” The eyes narrowed. “Julian!”

“One might think you were in a hurry, love. Is there some place you need to be?”

Frustrated amusement flowed through the tailor. Wasn’t _he_ supposed to be the snarky one? “I would just like to return the affection you’ve lavished upon me,” he prevaricated. If the human continued, this was going to be a much shorter encounter than predicted. “And you do so have such a lovely body.” Yes, play on his vanity.

But Bashir only preened for a moment before lowering himself back down, this time settling on his elbows. He slid the entire top of the trousers down, gripping Garak’s hips firmly. Now, he wrapped his mouth around the entire chuva, letting the flat of his tongue cover the whole interior. A fierce flow of blood rose to the surface between Garak’s legs, and he felt his toes curl. The tip of the tongue dipped lower, beneath the hem of the pants and coming into contact with the top seam of his ajan. “Ah-AH!” He came in a sudden wave of ecstasy and a spurt inside himself that was an arousing sensation all its own. He hadn’t filled himself since his teen years, and it was surprisingly more sensual than he remembered. But embarrassment quickly followed. “I apologize, my dear,” he pleaded between shallow breaths. “It has been a few years since I’ve been stimulated in that way.” And even then, it hadn’t been in _quite_ that way. His monthly visitors while under the influence of the implant had always been solicitous, but they rarely performed more than paid for.

Bashir sat up on his haunches, hauling his jacket and shirt up over his head and onto the floor before crawling up the bed. He settled himself along Garak’s left side and propped his head on one hand, nestled between torso and arm. He looked infuriatingly smug, and the tailor found himself vowing to find a way to wipe that smirk off his face. For now, though, it felt like a sunning rock had pressed itself to his chest, and he couldn’t have pushed the man away if he’d wanted. There was also the matter of the quite obvious bulge digging into his hip. 

“I think I’m going to enjoy learning your body,” Bashir stated. He nuzzled Garak’s temple. “I think you’re going to also.”

Garak huffed. “Already, our rendezvous had gone to your head. I’m not certain we should continue in this vein, Doctor. If your ego gets any larger, something is bound to burst.”

Bashir chuckled wickedly. “From what I’ve seen, you’re much more likely to… _burst_ than I am.”

Garak reached up with his left hand and pinched him, laughing quietly at the yelp it produced. “What am I going to do with such a spirited individual as you, my dear?”

The body curled up to him wriggled enticingly, and Bashir leaned in to his ear. “You could fuck me,” he whispered.

Garak’s breath caught. He hadn’t even dared to fantasize hearing that line from the doctor, imagining it subconsciously a scant few times in his darkest dreams. The only thing he desired to hear just as much was that the human would want to fuck _him._

Bashir took his silence as hesitation. “Or, well, we could go to sleep for a while if you like. Or have a snack. Or… will you spend the night tonight?” 

The immediate reversal from suave lover to timorous and insecure was almost charming. Garak withdrew his arm to turn on his side and face the doctor. He ran his hand down the honey-brown arm, sliding his fingers between Bashir’s. The human bit his lip endearingly. Garak slid their joined hands down to cover the erection straining through the gray Starfleet trousers. “I think we should take care of this before we make any plans for sleep,” he suggested. Bashir’s eyes fluttered shut as they massaged slowly up and down. “First, let’s get you out of this _painfully_ dreadful polyester.”

“It’s thermoregulating biomorphic polymer,” the young man grumped, as if everyone didn’t know what TBP was. But he still allowed the material to be dragged down his legs and discarded on the floor with the rest of his uniform. His bulge appeared even larger than before, and Garak decided that he would be satisfied with waiting a few days before trying to take all of that in. From his profession, he had been generally aware of what would be average for a human, but Bashir was such a slight thing that Garak had always assumed his organ would be a tad smaller. Considering the uniform girth up and down the shaft--which was a far cry from Garak’s own tapered phallus--smaller would be perfectly acceptable for a Cardassian.

Before he could lie back down, though, Bashir stretched out to grab hold of Garak’s trousers. “You too, Elim,” he charged, giving a firm yank. The bottoms with their warm thermal lining dropped to his knees. Bashir’s eyebrows leapt up. “No undergarments?”

Garak sat back to allow the clothing to slide the rest of the way off. “No need.” With their internal genitalia, it was hardly necessary for a Cardassian to utilize something like briefs or boxers. Although he did occasionally employ them on the days that he had lunch with the good doctor. For… other reasons.

“Well then. I suppose it’s only fair if I even things up.” 

Garak watched as Bashir stood to remove his final item of clothing. The doctor let it drop to the floor before lifting it with his toes and flinging it into the air, catching the cloth with a flourish. “Is… is that some sort of mating performance?” the Cardassian inquired.

“Ah, no. It’s just something humans do, I guess, for fun.”

Garak didn’t completely understand the need for such an activity, but he wasn’t going to begrudge his beloved a little _fun._ And it did show off his tight and alluring thighs and buttocks. Not to mention the sprightly cock that had sprung free and seemed to delight in being on display. He felt a stirring in his own member as it sped through its journey to recovery, aided by the stunning scene in front of him.

Garak urged Bashir back into the bed, beguiled by the careless chucking of his briefs off to the side, where they landed in the corner. He let the human splay out over the sheets, fussily arranging him a little here or there for an ideal and visually pleasing composition. Settled with one arm under his head, a hand resting on his stomach, and a knee cocked in the air, his handsome doctor looked every bit the wanton and bewitching seducer. Sufficiently seduced, the tailor sat on his legs to map out the body before him. Wiry legs, protruding hips, and flat planes of the abdomen that gave way to an angular chest, populated by a sparse contingent of tiny hairs. The mammalian fur formed small patches under his arms and around his groin, where it looked suspiciously well-maintained. “Do you groom this?” he wondered aloud, tracing a finger through the dark curls.

Bashir’s cock twitched in interest. “I do, actually. Although I can trim it away completely if you like.” 

Garak honestly wasn’t sure what preference he held. On the one hand, this body was a quaint novelty, the alien quality lending a certain little thrill. On the other hand, his skin was so silky and smooth, and the fuzzy bush looked like it might itch when they merged. But it wasn’t insurmountable. “There’s no hurry,” he replied. “Tonight I’m content to see you just as you are. We can save the trimming for another night.”

He ran a hand down one thigh, finding small, fine hairs there as well. It felt strange, but he supposed it was just a quirk of the race. Cardassians had ridges; humans had hairs. Even so, he felt drawn to the bare stomach that was closer to what he was familiar with, except for the strange, swirly indentation in the center. “What do you call this?” He poked it softly.

The muscles behind it clenched and released. “That’s my navel, and it’s a little ticklish.”

“Is that so?” Garak jiggled his finger a little, entertained by the squeaks that it provoked. “What is its purpose? Not much like the chuva, I assume.” Such a shame.

“It doesn’t have a purpose, really. It’s left over from when we’re in the womb. You wouldn’t find it terribly interesting right now. But if you explore a little higher up, giving these attention might not get _precisely_ the same response as your chuva, but might invoke something similar.” He pointed to the two small, dark protuberances on his chest, one over each pectoral muscle. 

Garak _had_ wondered about them. He bent over, gliding his hands up from Bashir’s hips, eliciting a few more spasms and squeaks as he inadvertently discovered a few more ticklish spots. Basing his exploit upon the way the doctor had treated his Chu’en, he approached one nub with his mouth. When he licked a stripe over the tip, he was rewarded with a sharp indrawn breath. Intrigued, he drew a circle around it before swiping again. Bashir moaned, sending a new roil of heat through Garak’s core. Getting a feel for the tiny structure, he sucked it into his mouth while rapidly squeezing the other one between his fingertips. “Eh- Ah!” Bashir’s hips thrust up against him. He decided it might be prudent to dedicate a few more minutes to trying different angles and methods, and the skin around them grew damp with perspiration as their owner panted and whimpered.

Curious about additional parts of the human’s body, Garak kissed his way up to the neck, which was a favored erogenous zone for Cardassians. There were no ridges or scutes there, but he found the supple skin that much easier to nibble and suckle. It didn’t create quite the same results as it would on someone like him, but it tasted absolutely delicious, so he remained in place while reaching down with a hand for Bashir’s until-now neglected cock. He pumped lightly while savoring the flesh between his lips, just over the pulse point. 

He was sorely tempted to use his teeth but became distracted by questing hands that had crept their way onto his own shoulders and begun to search. They traced and pinched in various places, and Garak vacillated between trying to maintain a focus on satisfying his human and enjoying each spike of pleasure that jolted through him from ridge to ajan. He pulled back to draw in a deep breath. “My dear, could you apply your mouth there? Right there, where you’re squeezing.” Bashir hummed and leaned in, taking the scales between his lips. “Oh. Use your teeth, gently. On the outside of the ridge, yes. Can you tug a little, like you’re trying to-- oh yes.” He could feel small indentations being pressed into his skin, the sweet-sharp sensation of being licked between the biting teeth, and a slickening between his folds. His hand between their bodies faltered as he gave in for a moment, reveling in the sensations as Bashir worked his way up the ridge until he was just below the ear. Here, he brought his teeth together above and below the aural ridge and dragged them along Garak’s jaw, first towards his chin and then back again. It was a unique sensation, but not an unpleasant one.

A free hand slid up through his hair, scratching lightly down his scalp, and a rush of tingles slithered down Garak’s neck and spine. Cardassians were very protective of their hair, and as such almost never touched one another there. But my, what they were missing! He delved a hand of his own into the brown waves covering the doctor’s head, eager to share in the experience. “Oh, that’s sublime,” Bashir sighed, and Garak had to agree with that term. The hand behind his head caressed back and forth, then trailed down to his neck, making him break out in a tingling sensation under his skin. It pulled him down and he craned forward, eager to find out what was next. “Elim. I want--” This close, he could actually hear the man lick his lips. “Would you be interested in-- what I mean is… I’d very much like to feel you inside me.”

Garak’s heart and pr’Ut twinged at the same time. To be accorded such an honor. “I’d like nothing more, my dear.” It was only a small lie. The only thing he’d take over this was a permanent return to his homeland. They moved around just a little, Bashir lifting his hips to slide a pillow underneath, leaving his legs bent, and Garak settled between them. It only took a few gentle swipes over his seam to urge his phallus to evert, pointing eagerly at the cleft being ardently offered. 

During the two years that he’d been what he considered “compromised,” he’d indulged in many different arousing holovids. And after Starfleet arrived, there had been no lack of human erotica, so he had a general idea of what to do now. But even so, he was reluctant to hurry. He gingerly held himself over his patient lover, kissing him deeply as he delved into his ajan for lubrication. Once his fingers were sufficiently covered, he reached lower, first petting at the soft but terribly fragile (in his opinion) scrotum and then underneath and behind it. He focused first on the joining of their mouths, trying to seem more confident than he was as he trailed a finger back until it encountered a fluttering hollow. Bashir groaned softly at the touch. Encouraged, he pushed inward through the ring of muscle. It was much tighter inside than any Cardassian ajan, pulsing and twitching around him. He slid in further, and the human whimpered, lifting his hips in supplication. With such positive results, he withdrew and added a second finger next. “Oh…” Bashir exhaled, his warm breath steaming over Garak’s lips. He added a third finger, and the body beneath him began to writhe. He felt along the velvety interior, brushing against a lump. The doctor jerked at the touch, nearly knocking their heads together. 

Garak pulled out. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, oh yes. That was my prostate. It’s very sensitive for humans. But in a good way. Definitely a good way.” Bashir cupped his hand against Garak’s cheek. “I’m ready, love.” With his other hand, he reached down to stroke the Cardassian organ, down to the thick base and back up again to the tapered tip. “Your shape is perfect for this. It shouldn’t be a problem at all.” He brushed their noses together and kissed Garak again, leading him on.

When Garak slid into the space between the globes of Bashir’s backside, he inhaled shakily. Prodding at the opening, he shook his head. He knew from the vids that it should be possible, but… “My dear, are you sure? It feels so small.”

The human lay back against the pillow, smiling. “I _am_ a doctor, you know. Trust me, it’s made to stretch.”

Garak did trust him. He pushed forward and inward, feeling as if tight lips were sliding up his pr’Ut centimeter by centimeter. No one he had ever been with had been this tight, the constriction blissfully hot and maddening. He continued on until he could go no further, chest heaving as his irrlun reached Bashir’s rim. 

They stared into each other for a few moments, learning the feel of one another. Bashir’s hazel eyes were clouded with lust, but a spark of mischief lurked behind them, too. Garak nearly screamed as the muscles enclosing him constricted, and what felt like a trail of magma burned its way through the center of his pr’Ut and into his ajan. “Doctor, if you do that again,” he threatened, “I’ll--oh…” 

He began to twist and rotate his hips, delighting in the squeezing of the sphincter against his aroused scales. 

Bashir didn’t reply, as he was busy exclaiming each time Garak’s erection brushed back and forth over his prostate, never leaving it. He slowly lowered himself fully over his lover’s body, until they were flush, skin to skin everywhere possible. Their mouths met messily as they embraced, hugging tightly, hands sliding and kneading over each other’s backs. Bashir wrapped his legs around Garak’s waist, and the desire to switch from twisting to thrusting took over. 

Garak had mated before, had fucked dozens of sex workers, but looking into the eyes of someone he respected and adored as he plunged in and out of his body, now he could understand why some humans called it “making love.” Joining with Julian was like the best parts of life all compressed into a person. Like the first sip of a fresh, hot cup of red leaf tea. Like a spring morning after the last winter winds had blown away. Like sliding into one of the heated clay-baths in Lakarian City, pure indulgence. Words spilled out of him as their pace increased. “Oh, my dear doctor, my love, Julian…” 

“Elim. Yes, please. Oh gods yes.” They rocked faster, Bashir’s heels driving in repeatedly on each side of his spine as Garak wrapped his arms under the sweaty back, hands gripping tight over the thin shoulders to drive him harder down on his cock, the tempo growing erratic.

They were both moaning and whining now, breathing heavily into each other’s faces but unwilling to look away for even a moment. Bashir’s hand at Garak’s waist slipped, sending it scraping up the central back ridge, and that was all it took to send him over the edge. He thrust a final time as deep as he could go, feeling pulse after pulse leave him to fill up the other man. Bashir followed right behind, keening wordlessly as his knees clenched tight enough into Garak’s ribs to leave bruises. The space around his pr’Ut tightened mercilessly as the human came, draining every last drop that Garak had to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail the mighty Tinsnip for the Cardassian anatomy terms, except for the three Chu’en, which originate from TerokNorTailor.


	4. Descend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-coital conversation

His body remained stone solid for several moments after, while Bashir’s trembled and then released before he collapsed into the mattress. Garak’s reptilian organs loosened at their own glacial pace, first his pr’Ut retracting slowly back into himself, then his torso muscles, and finally his limbs. Gingerly, he lowered himself next to the younger man.

He idly wondered when the doctor had invested in a new bed; this one much larger than the last time he’d visited. It was substantially wider and with thicker padding, quite pleasant, even if he’d retained the Cardassian triangular pillows. It was almost too easy to picture coming here night after night and engaging in an enthusiastic bout of intimacy before nestling into the luxurious nest. He might even enjoy a higher quality of sleep, with a warm companion at his side and plush mattress under his scales. After years of solitude and somewhat self-imposed discomfort, the whole situation seemed surreal, and the thought of repeating their current scenario even more so, but all the more alluring.

When he finally looked at his companion, it was to meet a questioning gaze. “You’re thinking awfully loudly over there,” Bashir murmured. “Care to share what’s got you so distracted?” He turned on his side so that they were face to face. “You see,  _ normally _ after humanoids, ahem, have sex… they curl up together, or talk, or fall asleep. Or have another go at it. I’m plenty open to any of those options, just so you know.”

The devilish face was so completely disarming that Garak felt himself melt a little. He tried a reassuring smile. “Nothing important, my dear. Although I feel compelled to ask: Do all humans blaspheme so casually throughout their sexual relations? You’re not worried about retaliations from the ubiquitous gods that you repeatedly called upon?”

Bashir rolled his eyes. “It’s only blaspheming against your gods if you  _ believe _ in them, which I don’t.”

Garak was intrigued. “Really? 

“At least, not on most days. In space, it’s hard to choose--much less follow--any one religion. There’s got to be  _ thousands _ among all the different planets.” He kept his eyes on the ceiling, considering. “Although I suppose I’m open to the idea of a higher power of some sort, so maybe I’m agnostic. Look at the Prophets and the Q Continuum. If  _ they _ exist, then something even more powerful may as well.” He met Garak’s gaze again and shrugged. “I think that most people say things like ‘oh god’ when they’re coming just because it feels so beyond anything else they’ve ever experienced. It’s…” he searched for a word, “ _ transcendental.”  _ His eyes lit up. “Especially when you’re with someone you care about.” He touched his palm to Garak’s chest. “What about you? Or Cardassians in general? Do you believe in anything supernatural? Or does everyone just worship the State?”

“ _ Really, _ Doctor. Worship by its very nature is completely un-Cardassian. It requires not only blind devotion and rituals, but love or adoration, both of which are terribly sentimental. We may not be Vulcans, but we  _ do _ value reason and logic above emotion.” Garak felt a renewed stirring of his pulse. Usually, a discussion like this came before the act of mating and not after, but his companion was such a spirited debater that it hardly mattered. He waited eagerly for the rejoinder.

“But worship is also honor and homage to something deemed sacred,” Bashir returned. “And Cardassian culture  _ clearly  _ venerates the wisdom and hierarchy provided by the government. Everything you do, from schooling to your careers to conquering other peoples revolves around maintaining the order and power of the omnipresent  _ State.” _

Garak shook his head. “But we don’t consider it  _ sacred _ . It’s a framework, a philosophy, a way of life, but it’s no more a religion than the teachings of Surak for the Vulcans. Trust me, Doctor, Cardassians did away with deities when they banned the Hebitian religion generations ago.”

Bashir looked fascinated. “So Cardassians  _ did  _ have a religion at one time? What was it like? Does anyone still practice, even though it’s prohibited?”

Garak groaned internally. He should have known better than to bring up such a controversial topic. Especially one so closely entwined with his own past. Luckily, he knew that the doctor could be easily deflected. “Julian dear,” yes, there, using his name caused an automatic softening in the eyes, “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but if we’re going to continue this conversation, could I entreat upon your hospitality by requesting a blanket of some kind?”

Bashir looked chagrined. “I’m sorry! I guess I got carried away. Let me find you something.”

“It’s alright, my dear. We both got carried away, as is our wont.” He watched the naked form appreciatively, admiring the golden glow and toned muscles. 

After digging something out from the bottom drawer of his wardrobe, Bashir returned a moment later with a heaping mound of material. He perched his head on top, pinning a fold down with his chin. “There’s actually a story behind this,” he said, setting himself down cautiously on the edge of the bed. “Back when you had your trouble with the implant and told me about how miserable you were on the station, I ordered this for you. But when it arrived, it was so  _ large _ . I had wanted to wrap it up and give it to you as a gift, but I couldn’t figure out how to present it. I couldn’t very well bring it to our lunch table, and it isn’t something you just deliver to a person at work. But dropping it off at your quarters seemed a little, well…” He ducked his head. “I realized then that friends don’t usually buy each other large comforters, much less thick, expensive ones with Andorian cotton tops, and satin undersides that heat against your skin.” One hand patted the blanket absently. “So I put it aside and hoped that maybe someday I’d have the chance to give it to you as something more than a friend.” 

Garak sat up to run a hand over the navy blue cotton. “How thoughtful of you,” he responded quietly. Flipping a corner over, burgundy satin gleamed in the light. It really did seem to warm at his touch, a high-quality fabric indeed. And Bashir had made the purchase some time ago, when they’d known each other for just under 3 years. In the beginning, he’d secretly hoped the doctor was fond of him, but had lost any semblance of hope after the incident with the wire. Surely watching something go through severe withdrawal after a deadly addiction was enough to disgust and drive away most people. But Bashir wasn’t most people. 

Garak wouldn’t feel the way he did if he  _ had _ been. “I’m honored and most gratified, Julian.”

Together, they stood back up, opening and straightening the covering over the bed. “Now, even though I bought this for you, I hope you don’t mind sharing,” Julian teased, still holding one side. “You’ve always struck me as the type to be a bit of a blanket hog.”

“Is that so? You’re hardly one to speak, seeing as how you’ve already kept it to yourself all these years.” Garak gave his own side a tiny yank, delighted to see a spark light in Bashir’s eyes.

“Yes, and I’ve grown rather fond of it. In fact, I’ve tried it a couple times myself. Perhaps I should keep it. I’d hate to offer you a  _ used  _ gift.” He tugged it in his direction.

“Oh, but Doctor, I’m naught but a poorly tailor whose livelihood depends solely upon my customers. I could never afford something like this on my own. Surely you wouldn’t deny me such a small luxury?” He slid one leg onto the bed and under the blanket, arranging it neatly around his waist.

Bashir snorted in a very ungentlemanly manner. “Poorly tailor, my arse. One bolt of that Tholian silk in your back room is worth 5 of these. Maybe I shouldn’t deny  _ myself _ the luxury.” He pulled the cover back toward himself, exposing Garak.

Enjoying himself immensely, Garak lifted onto his knees. “In case you haven’t noticed, you have a very naked Cardassian in your room, Doctor. One whose body temperature is going to drop soon and will require some method of retaining warmth if you want him to remain here.” He ran his hand along the top edge of the material, observing Bashir as the human warily watched his hand approach. Just before they touched, he clenched down and wrenched it back. But the doctor didn’t let up, resulting in him tumbling down with the blanket. A short tussle followed, involving much rolling, tugging, and cursing, but it soon devolved into poking, tickling, and chortling. 

They settled down to catch their breaths, Bashir resting with his head on Garak’s chest and his feet off the side of the bed. The disputed comforter lay crookedly over them, covering less than half of their flesh. It didn’t matter, though, because the human on top was producing enough body heat for both of them.

“Computer: lights off,” Bashir mumbled into the scales under Garak’s chula. 

The darkness settled around them, and Garak found himself mourning the loss. His sensitive Cardassian eyes could see well-enough in the darkness, but only shapes and shadows, not color. And the human was such a lovely sight to behold. “Julian dear. Let’s at least use the bed properly so that neither one of us ends up with sore muscles or a crick in the neck.”

“Hmmf. I’m pretty sure we’re both going to be sporting sore muscles anyway after the athletics earlier.” Bashir lifted his head to leer saucily. “Not that I’m complaining.”

They rearranged themselves vertically on the bed, each on their own pillow and the blanket finally righted across them, with plenty of room for both to have their share. Side by side, they reclined on their backs, awkwardly staring at the ceiling. The human shuffled and readjusted a couple times, and Garak couldn’t help wondering if he was restless or simply trying to sneak closer. “You know, Doctor, it’s not uncommon for Cardassians to sleep closely together, especially with one on top of the other. Not unlike the alligators and crocodilians from your home planet. There are carvings of our ancient ancestors piled up on one another’s backs, which was the only possible way when they had tails. But nowadays, the larger or sturdier partner usually lets the smaller one drape across their chest.”

Bashir propped himself on his elbows to look down. “Why Elim, are you requesting that I lie on top of you?”

Garak hummed noncommittally. “Just imparting some cultural education on a friend who happens to have become intimate with a Cardassian.”

Rather than take the bait, the doctor settled back down. “Did you know that amongst humans, some are born with sensory issues that interfere with their sleep? They benefit from the use of something called a weighted blanket, which creates a deep pressure against their muscles and skin.”

“And are you one of those individuals, my dear, in need of a weight covering you?”

A grunt was returned. “Just imparting some physiological education on a friend who happens to have become intimate with a Human.”

Cheerful tendrils unraveled through Garak’s torso. The back and forth banter between him and Bashir was such a joy; they were so evenly matched. He’d be hard pressed to find another Cardassian--let alone a humanoid of any other type--who could not only appreciate but return his particular brand of social intercourse. 

As tired as he was, he wasn’t yet ready just yet to let go of their repartee. Surrendering to sleep would bring their night that much more quickly to an end. Yet they seemed to have reached a stalemate. Both wanted the other to make a move, or maybe both wanted to feel the other on top of them. Perhaps they needed to reach some sort of compromise. But what?

He needn’t have worried. His impatient companion was already squirming over. He nuzzled his face into Garak’s shoulder ridge, kissing it sweetly. “What would you prefer, love? Holding, or being held?” 

He had to admit that sometimes Bashir’s candor could be refreshing, and tried to meet it equally. “Being held, if you don’t mind, dear.”

Bashir pulled him closer, tucking him into his side so that Garak was half-lying on top of him with his head on the sparsely haired chest. An arm wrapped up and around Garak’s back, the hand squeezing his shoulder. Despite being in what a Cardassian would consider a dominant position, he felt strangely vulnerable. And tender. It wasn’t a feeling that he ever thought he would enjoy, but now that it started he wanted it to never stop. He’d do whatever he could to experience this again and again.

The strong, mammalian heart beat under his ear as the chest rose and fell steadily. Everything he’d said earlier about his ancestors had been fabricated, but he could see why other species had such a practice. It was such an intimate embrace, being able to perceive the life functions of someone with whom you already held an emotional connection. As his body began to relax, his hips tilted forward and his top leg slid over Bashir’s, settling in between the two human ones. Garak had never lain like this, and found it astoundingly agreeable. 

“Mmmm,” Bashir hummed contentedly. “You’re very good at cuddling. Have you done this before?”

“Hardly. Gardeners and tailors aren’t exactly sought out as desirable partners amongst my people.”

“And I’ll bet the Obsidian Order doesn’t train its agents on proper snuggling techniques,” the doctor quipped cheekily.

“Oh, don’t be so sure. Interrogation can come in many forms. You’d be surprised at how efficacious seduction can be.”

The hand rubbing at his shoulder stilled. “Tell me again how ridiculous my James Bond program was.”

Pride and mirth bubbled up inside Garak. “My dear, you have no idea how effective of an agent you could have been. I harbor no doubts that you could charm a gil or even a gul into giving up the army’s most prized secrets and objectives. It’s a pity that Dukat has a preference for Bajoran females.”

Bashir groaned and shivered theatrically. “Ugh. Don’t ever mention that name while I’m naked in bed with you again. I don’t even want to  _ think _ about what would be involved in… no. Just no.” They lay quietly for a few minutes before he broke the silence again. “Is that what happened with you and me? The hardened spy was ensnared by my devastatingly good looks, masterful wit, and  _ insatiable _ curiosity?” Garak couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the smirk. 

“It certainly wasn’t your sense of humility.” In point of fact, the brashness and hubris had been part of the appeal. Even Tain had appreciated it to some degree. It seemed that no matter the species, confidence was inspiring. “But you do wear those so well. From the very first day, I took one look and knew you were trouble.” And he’d wanted that like nothing in his life before.

Bashir chuckled. “At the time, all I knew was that  _ you  _ were trouble. It was thrilling but also a little bit terrifying, especially when you appeared out of nowhere and introduced yourself to me.”

Garak remembered that all too well. How he’d originally planned just to intimidate the young doctor a little, titillate him with a little intrigue and subterfuge, and then to dominate and use that luscious body for as long as permitted. 

But somewhere along the way he’d grown fond of the Starfleet officer and the lunchtime interludes that grew longer and deeper through time. Rather than a pretty face and shallow disposition, he found someone who shared his love of reading, who delighted in exchanging facts and ideas, who would eagerly dive into new dishes with him just for the sake of expanding his horizons. Through Bashir’s companionship, Garak regained an appreciation for items and matters he’d long since lost interest in. To look forward to, appreciate, and even enjoy parts of his life on the station. He began to  _ live _ again. 

And look where it brought him. Never in a thousand years would he have foreseen this chain of events, or even dared to hope for it.

He felt his hair compress as a pair of lips kissed his crown. “You know I absolutely adore you, right?” the younger man whispered against his scalp.

How does one reply to a comment like that? “I’m willing to take your word for it, my dear.” What a thought, he was adored by someone. “I’m also rather fond of you as well,” he added.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that,” Bashir said huskily. There was a pregnant pause. “Would you mind terribly if I asked an awkward question?”

Garak only suffered a faint twinge of dread. “One might say you just did.”

“But that wasn’t an answer.”

“I’m assuming you wish to address certain words exchanged between us, and their effect on events moving forward.” Garak almost felt proud of himself for being so direct, rather than dancing around the issue.

Bashir adjusted himself. “Well, yes. And I very much want there to be an  _ us, _ I might add.”

An “us.” Had Garak ever really been part of an “us”? He’d barely been afforded the chance to develop relationships in his youth, and even what he had with Palandine had been tainted by the fact that she was married. Tain and the Obsidian Order had forbidden such liaisons, of course. Not that it ever stopped anyone from forming such associations anyway, including Tain himself. 

Was Garak ready to be in a relationship? It almost felt like... a non-issue. In a way, he’d already been in one for some time, and this night had merely altered the nature of it. From that perspective, the idea was far less intimidating. “My dear, there is already an  _ us,”  _ he admitted. He placed a kiss on the tawny skin against his cheek before resting there again. “My only concern is the possible repercussions of publicly acknowledging the fact.”

Bashir squirmed out from under him to half-sit and look down on Garak. There was a light in his eyes, despite the darkness of the room. “Is that really all? You’re not worried about being with me, about us being an actual couple?”

“Yes. And no. Yes, I believe that Starfleet finding out that you’ve become  _ entangled _ with a character such as I could have negative effects on your career. And no, I have no reservations about you and I being together otherwise. We’ve already proven quite compatible both intellectually and physically.” 

Bashir bent closer, tracing a few scales on Garak’s chest. “Hmm. Yes, we  _ entangle _ very nicely. I hope we can continue to do so, as often as possible.” He leaned down to kiss the chula, and Garak had no doubts about the layered meanings behind the action. “Although I don’t think everyone finding out would be as bad as you predict.” His lips trailed upward to a ridge. “But we can discuss that later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Okay, so I couldn’t find a good way to tie this up, and I’m enjoying it too much to end. So one more chapter!  
> \- You bet your regeneration bucket that I own a weighted blanket.  
> \- As an introvert who’s somehow always ended up the dominant partner in relationships, one of the things I absolutely adore about the Garak/Bashir dynamic is how the lead constantly switches up in their dance.


	5. Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone finds out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn’t intend on a 3rd, 4th, or 5th chapter or having any other characters in this story, but here we are! I still felt the need for warm and fuzzies, so this one is pretty much fluff.

Garak had to applaud Bashir’s plan of action. It was thoughtful and cautious, and required more patience than he would have originally given the doctor. Over the next month or so, they would gradually increase the frequency of their lunches and visits to each other’s place of work. They’d also advance the type and amount of touches between them, starting with patting hands and casual brushes to the back and arms. They’d both been chagrined to realize just how much they did that already once they paid attention to the matter. After a week or two, they’d begin sitting closer at the table during lunch and meeting for drinks after dinner. Bashir also mentioned something that humans called “playing footsie,” which sounded ridiculous but also a little arousing. Of course, Garak’s favorite part of the scheme was his own contribution. He’d take to gifting his human with hand-tailored garments of Cardassian design, which Bashir would wear during his off time. 

The other denizens of the station, from Bajorans to Starfleet and everything in between (or to the side) would have time to observe the progression. And Garak and Bashir could observe their reactions in turn.

It was a good, safe plan, if inelegant. Detailed. 

Which meant it was doomed to utter and complete failure, without a doubt. It was only a matter of time, Garak was certain. But he was willing to keep it up for as long as possible.

They should have known that Odo would become suspicious almost immediately. The changeling peered at him over breakfast, a serious look in his eyes. 

“Yes, Constable?” 

“This is the third time you’ve spent the night in Dr. Bashir’s quarters.”

They’d prepared an explanation for this. “Keeping ever vigilant on the security footage, I see. Yes, I’m helping the good doctor with a medical study on the sleeping habits of Cardassians. He’s trying to understand why the denizens of the Northern Continent engage in biphasic sleep cycles, while the rest of us do not. Our own scientists haven’t yet constructed a logical deduction, and so--with his infinite hubris--he decided to try solving the conundrum himself.” The last part may have been a last-minute addition to the tale.

There wasn’t so much as a blink. Did Odo  _ ever  _ blink? “You smell like him.”

“I didn’t think changelings had the ability to smell, seeing as you don’t actually have noses.”

“My senses might be dissimilar from those of humanoids, but I  _ do _ still have ways to perceive the world around me.” The constable crossed his arms. “Which means I can tell that you are carrying residue of Bashir’s pheromones and soap.”

“Yes, I imagine that spending 10 hours in the doctor’s quarters would leave some sort of impression on my person. But it’s hardly my place to speak with him about what he does there when I’m not around that would result in his scent being spread so widely.” Garak felt a flicker of shame for portraying Julian in such a manner.

Odo flicked a glance at his plate. “You’re not eating.”

To prove him wrong, Garak stabbed a random piece of food and shoved it into his mouth, hardly tasting anything. His mind worked furiously for a way to distract the constable or deflect the conversation.

Just then, Major Kira strolled up. She leaned down to kiss Odo, holding his face fondly for a moment. “Good morning. I’ve already eaten because I’ve got an early shift today, but I thought I’d stop by on the way to Ops.”

“Good morning, Nerys,” the constable replied, his gruff voice softer and warmer than a moment ago. He took her hand. “And I’ll be seeing you tonight?”

Her mouth turned up, and Garak realized he hadn’t seen her so happy since Vedek Bareil. Her entire face transformed when she looked at Odo, as if a sun had flared to life under her skin. “You bet.” She gave him one last kiss and a squeeze of the hand before nodding to Garak and taking her leave.

When he turned back to the changeling, it was to meet a piercing stare. It was disconcerting how someone who didn’t actually have eyes could peer straight through you. The security officer was getting better at projecting emotions for others to read. Or maybe he was subconsciously copying the actions of the humanoids he’d been surrounded by for decades now. The muscles in his face suddenly slackened, making him appear less demanding and more… friendly. He turned around to regard the retreating form. “Sometimes I worry about the Major. She’s become very dear to me.” When he looked back at Garak, he only met his eyes for a second before glancing away. “Not everyone is…  _ accepting _ of her association with one of the Founders. But she’s smart, and strong. And Captain Sisko is a very open-minded and understanding person. As are Chief O’Brien and Lieutenant Dax. The Federation might be naive and idealistic, but its officers are nothing if not compassionate and forgiving.”

Garak had hardly even given Odo and Kira a second thought, but their relationship did bear some strong parallels to his own. Odo was right; there had been hardly any backlash to the couple’s rather overt performance on the promenade or the subsequent flurry of dates and displays of affection that followed. And the Major had borne the brunt of any misgivings with a stolid demeanor and the most polite way of telling naysayers to get stuffed that he’d ever had the privilege of witnessing. It was no wonder Dukat was infatuated with her.

His own Julian was just as brave and spirited. He’d stood up to that damned gul, to the constable, even Enabran Tain. He’d filed a grievance against his own captain! Warmth, pride, and affection flooded him for the pertinacious doctor. He was a prominent figure on DS9 these days, looked upon with respect and a certain amount of reverence for all the miracles he’d performed. “This station does seem to bring out the best in people, Federation and non alike,” he finally replied.

Odo merely grunted, but appeared satisfied that he’d gotten his point across. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to return to work. Quark received several shipments last night that require examination.” 

“Of course,” Garak answered graciously. “Have a good day, Constable.” He chuckled to himself. The station  _ did _ have an interesting effect on its denizens. Not long ago, Odo would have been present at the arrival of the shipments, rather than showing up a few hours later and allowing the enterprising Ferengi barkeep time to stow away any illicit purchases.

His mind made up, Garak disposed of his hardly-touched meal and followed the Major’s path towards Ops. He felt oddly free and light with the decision made.

His arrival was greeted by the Trill chief science officer. “Good day, Lieutenant Dax. Do you think Captain Sisko might be able to spare a moment from the war to speak with a simple tailor?” 

She glanced at the closed office doors. “Well, he’s currently in a meeting, but I’ll let him know you’re here.” She tapped her comm badge. “Captain, Garak is here to see you. What would you like me to tell him?”

<Send him in.>

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged, but smiled encouragingly. “Go ahead.”

As soon as Garak stepped in, his stomach flipped, and he learned the meaning of the term “giddy.” Bashir was standing at the desk, face flushed and expression sheepish. “Hullo, Garak.”

“Mr. Garak,” Captain Sisko intoned. “We were just discussing you.”

“Hopefully I’m not the subject of idle gossip amongst the senior staff,” Garak jested.

“Oh, that’s  _ exactly _ what you are,” the darker human retorted. “But that is to be expected when you become involved with one of them.” He raised an eyebrow. “There’s no use denying it. The doctor already filled me in.” Bashir shuffled his feet. “I’m not going to pretend I didn’t see this coming.” Sisko leaned back in his seat. “Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.” He leveled a gaze at the human. “ _ Much _ sooner.”

“It didn’t, sir.”

The captain turned a questioning look to Garak, who was confounded that he was being relied upon to verify Bashir’s claim. He merely nodded back.

“Well, you’re both grown men and fully capable of understanding any possible ramifications of your choices. And dealing with the consequences. I’m not going to stand in your way.” He held his hands out, palms up. “Although I do appreciate you informing me of the matter.”

Bashir rubbed his hands together nervously. “Actually, sir, I was hoping to talk to you off the record, too.”

The captain shifted forward, placing his elbows on the desk while grabbing the baseball ensconced there. “Alright.”

“I was wondering what you think I should tell… um… everyone.”

Sisko twisted the baseball back and forth. “The truth would be a good place to start.”

“I know. It’s just that with me being a member of the Federation and Garak a Cardassian, who we’re kind of at war with…” Bashir clasped his hands.

“Doctor, my first officer is a Bajoran who’s in a relationship with a Founder, the same race that is systematically demolishing the Alpha Quadrant and  _ leading _ that war. My Chief Science Officer is married to a Klingon. Don’t get me started there. And *I* am in a serious relationship with a freighter captain who spent 6 months in prison for smuggling supplies to the Maquis. I’d say your partnership is… par for the course.”

Garak rested his hand on Bashir’s shoulder. “He’s right, my dear. I think you’ll discover that hardly anyone will be surprised.” The doctor put a hand on top of Garak’s, squeezing it. He felt absurdly pleased that they’d just shown their first open gesture of affection as something more than friends. And in front of the captain, no less. One of the leading figures in the war against the Dominion and considered a deity by an entire planet of people. What a strange place he’d landed in.

They departed together, Bashir making sure their hands were linked as they entered Ops. It felt a little juvenile, but Garak wasn’t about to deny his beloved this brief moment of joy in an otherwise bleak and troubled time. It wasn’t until they descended the stairs that the lieutenant took notice. “Oh, so  _ that’s _ what the meeting was about!” Her eyes sparkled. “It took you long enough.”

“What  _ what’s _ about?” asked a peevish voice from a few consoles away. Chief O’Brien watched as they stepped onto the floor. “Oh.”

“Hey, Chief.” Bashir sounded nonchalant, but his hand had grown warm and a little sweaty in Garak’s. He led them over to where the other man began typing away furiously at a console, stealing a glance at them every few seconds.

When they stopped across from him, he quit pretending to be busy. “So.”

“Miles, I just wanted to let you know that Elim and I are going to be spending more time together. So, I might not be able to go for drinks or to the holosuites with you as much anymore.”

The chief nodded. “Well, that’s to be expected. When yer in a relationship with someone, you don’t always see yer friends as much.”

“You’re… okay with this then?”

Garak felt like that was asking a little much, but he remained silent, willing to let Bashir say and do what he felt was necessary.

“Christ Julian, the only thing you love more than besting the Falcon is talkin about  _ him. _ Keiko’s been rooting for the two of you for years now.”

With Bashir stunned for the moment, Garak couldn’t help needling the Irishman a little. “Perhaps now you’ll finally join me in a game of Kotra.”

The chief smirked. “You’ve got yerself a deal. Julian’s been trainin me on the finer details, and he’s taught me  _ all _ your little tricks.”

Garak was taken aback. “Not all of them, I’m sure,” he answered warily. The easy acceptance had been somewhat… unexpected.

Of course Dax would want to say her own piece, too. She clapped a hand on Garak’s back, more forcefully than he would have expected from the slight Trill. “Then you’re going to have to join me for Tongo, too. I can’t wait to see Quark’s face when you wipe the floor with him.” Garak had to admit that the idea held a considerable amount of appeal. 

“Yes, I imagine Leeta and Rom would appreciate that as well,” he added, smiling amicably to cover his unease. He wanted to come across as congenial as possible for Julian’s sake, but inside he was starting to panic. After a decade of relative solitude, it sounded as if his social calendar was rapidly filling up. Between Bashir’s friends and decoding transmissions for the Federation, when was he going to have time for his business, or to exchange information with what few contacts he had left? He was going to have to develop a whole new set of boundaries, it seemed. Somehow, the notion didn’t upset him as much as he would have expected.

Jadzia laughed, bumping Bashir’s hip with her own. “Why didn’t you get to this sooner? Think of all the fun we could have had!”

He stepped past her to wrap his arm around Garak. “Trust me, we asked ourselves the same thing just last week.” 

“Is this a space station or a social club?” a deep voice boomed from behind them. Dax and O’Brien sheepishly returned to their work, Dax sneaking in a wink as she strutted away. Sisko stood on the dais, his hands on his hips. “If you’re so eager to share your status with everyone, Doctor, I recommend heading over to  _ Quark’s _ , and let the officers on duty get back to work.” He sounded stern, but one corner of his mouth twitched.

“Yes sir, on our way,” Bashir acquiesced. As soon as they entered the turbolift, the doctor shook his head. “That’ll hardly be necessary. Jadzia’s got a social circle three times the size of Quark’s. By this time next week, half of the Quadrant will know about us.”

“And how do you feel about that, my dear?” Garak wasn’t totally sure how  _ he _ felt. Everything was moving so quickly now.

“Positively splendid,” Bashir replied. “Ah, where exactly are we headed? Promenade?”

The lift took it as a command and began moving.

“ _ Actually _ , Doctor, I could delay opening the shop this morning if you’d like to join me for brunch. Why don’t you change into the new shirt and slacks that I made for you, and I’ll be by your quarters in thirty minutes.” Garak was aware that Bashir had a shift starting in an hour, but he also knew that the CMO could finagle a small change in the schedule. He hoped that would be the case, because current events called for a small celebration.

“What’s wrong with these?” the human asked, looking slightly affronted.

“Nothing, if you’re a colorblind Lurian on Risa. But they’re hardly befitting a Starfleet officer or the romantic partner of a decent tailor. I despair at the thought of someone mistakenly believing I  _ approve _ of such a mismatched ensemble.”

Bashir chuckled and kissed him squarely on the mouth. “Can’t have that, now can we? Alright, I’ll change and see you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) What DOES a colorblind Lurian wear on Risa? I’m curious, but too afraid to ask Morn. I just don’t have the time to listen to his answer.  
> 2) Oops! It looks like there’s going to be a seventh chapter. And more smut, woohoo!  
> 3) Please tell me someone is working on a Halloween-themed Garashir. I wanted to write one, but the inspiration just isn’t coming.


	6. Rebound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intimate picnic in the arboretum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s more E-rated material in this chapter, and now THIS is my longest one.

They went their separate ways, allowing Garak to make a last-minute call and arrange a few details. He arrived at the doctor’s quarters precisely half an hour later. Arms linked, they made their way to the cargo bays. Bay 6 had been transformed into a botanical garden, and thanks to Professor O’Brien, it was guaranteed to be vacant for the next 2 hours. 

Bashir’s face lit up as they entered. “Elim, look at this! I can’t believe it. You really are a romantic at heart.” 

“Not as much as you, my dear. As I recall, both this location and a picnic were ideas that you suggested as possible interludes for the two of us.” He gallantly led his lover across a patch of deep green grass and into the shade under a tree with small, star-shaped leaves. Bashir folded his gangly limbs gracefully onto the crimson blanket. Garak followed, lowering himself primly. Not yet removing any food from the basket, he folded his hands and tilted his head, the very picture of receptivity. “I do believe this is how you wished to inform me of your true feelings and intentions.”

Bashir guffawed, merriment shining from behind his eyes. “I’m fairly certain we’ve already established both.”

But Garak just smiled. “Far be it from me to deprive you of the chance to act out a fantasy. Especially outside of a holosuite.”

Crawling forward, Bashir gave a soft smile. “You know, Elim, if you wanted to hear me say that I love you, you could just say so.”

Garak didn’t back down. “I assure you, this is entirely for your benefit, not my own.” 

Still on his hands and knees, the human regarded him through hooded eyes. “You’re so altruistic. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before.”

Was it getting warmer in the garden? Garak tried not to adjust his tunic. But he kept a careful reign on his mental lucidity. “I have many fine features for you to discover, my dear. As I’ve stated before, patience does have its virtues.”

Bashir resumed his prowl. Garak now had a choice: meet his advance or retreat. Enjoying the pursuit, he leaned backward. The doctor continued forward, forcing him back on his hands and then to slowly recline onto the blanket, food forgotten. The humid air of the garden and heat radiating from the soil beneath him were pleasing and even comforting in a way, but they were nothing compared to the ripples of warmth emanating from the human over him. He wanted to pull that body flush against him, to wrap those arms around his chest and feel the face nuzzling into his neck. To be enfolded and filled by his lover until the rest of the station faded away and they were left floating among the stars. Was it an embrace he desired, or a deep and thorough fucking? He mused.

The answer was yes.

Aligning himself over Garak, Bashir lowered his head with a sultry gaze. “Would I be correct in assuming that we’re not going to be disturbed in the near future?”

“If I said no, would that change your plans?”

The human narrowed his eyes, judging the innocent face that Garak had donned. “I’m going to assume your non-answer is a yes. Unless you’re an exhibitionist.” He paused. “But I don’t think you are.”

“Oh, Doctor. If only you’d known me in my youth,” Garak taunted. In truth, he’d never engaged in intercourse anywhere remotely public, but it had been a prime feature in his daydreams.

His face flushing, Bashir licked his lips. “I think I’d like to hear about that some time. I’ll wager you were quite the sight to see.”

Garak wasn’t accustomed to being found attractive, but this young man certainly made him believe it. He bit back an automatic denial and made a conscious effort to accept the doctor’s admiration. It filled him with a warm glow that he wanted to share. “As you are now, my dear. And every day since I’ve met you.”

Bashir ducked his head, shy again. But it had the effect of placing his mouth next to the Cardassian’s chin, and he turned, kissing along the jawline. Garak closed his eyes, willing his muscles to relax, despite his instincts to remain ever vigilant and to never let anyone confine him. This was Julian, he reminded himself. Someone with whom he was safe.

At least safe from others. 

He wasn’t entirely sure he was safe from whatever the younger man was planning next.

Proving his point, Bashir eased himself down over Garak’s body, and mouthed his way down to the neck. Swirls of pleasure twisted down into Garak’s chest at the licks and nibbles. Once teeth were applied, a single spark of lightning shot straight down between his legs, and a moan escaped on his exhaled breath. He wrapped his arms around the gangly back, running his fingertips down the spine. Bashir hissed suddenly, arching backward and up. Garak jerked his hands away, afraid he’d done something wrong.

“No, no it’s okay,” the human assured him. “The center of my back is just really sensitive when you do that. It doesn’t tickle or anything, it just… makes everything tingle and my legs turn to jelly.” He grinned bashfully. “If you’d done that while we were standing, I might have collapsed.” He returned his attention to Garak’s cheek. “But don’t tell anybody, okay?” he murmured in his ear. “I don’t want anyone else knowing my little weakness.”

No, that wouldn’t do at all. “Your secret is safe with me, as always, dear doctor. But I may act on it myself when the occasion calls for it.” He repeated the gesture, garnering similar results. This time, when Bashir’s back arched, he appreciated the way it also ground the human’s thickening erection along the swollen seam of his ajan.

“I’m going to get you back for that,” Julian gritted out before returning to suck on Garak’s aural and maxillary ridges. Little jolts sparked down his throat at the attention. 

Unable to return any kisses at the moment, Garak contented himself with untucking Bashir’s shirt and pulling it up over his head. He’d completely forgotten to admire how his work looked on the lithe body. But he did place it carefully off to the side, cautious to keep it from snagging on a nearby bush. He ran his hands up over the silken skin, delighting in the play of muscles under his palms. Bashir hummed contentedly, nuzzling under Garak’s ear. He rubbed his cheek against the ridged one and Garak pressed back, the flesh behind his scales buzzing pleasantly. 

The doctor sat back slightly,hands darting out to neatly undo the hooks on Garak’s elaborate tunic. “You’re such a quick learner,” the tailor praised. He lifted his shoulders, allowing Bashir to pull the garment off. He draped it on the blanket, not folding the cloth but at least not leaving it to wrinkle. 

Bashir gave him a heated look. “I aim to please.” He shimmied down, taking the waist of Garak’s slacks with him to reveal a skin-tight pair of thermal leggings. The material was exceptionally proficient at keeping out the cold air of the station, but was also nearly sheer. He’d donned the piece with the express purpose of taunting his paramour, and it looked as if his efforts had not been in vain. The doctor’s eyes scanned over them hungrily, nostrils flaring at the concentrated scent that had settled in the fabric. “What have we here?” he purred. “I don’t recall seeing anything like _this_ in your shop.”

“I provide a wide array of products and services beyond what you see on the floor, my dear. Not everything is put on display.” That had come out much more provocative than he’d planned, but it provided a gorgeous coloring of the face peering down at him, so he shimmied his hips playfully.

“You should see what’s on display right now,” Bashir murmured, throwing Garak a saucy grin. He repositioned his legs between the tailor’s and leaned with his hands on the blanket, outside of the gray hips. Garak watched, enthralled, as those luscious lips descended out of sight. His whole lower body tensed as we waited for them to make contact. After an excruciating several seconds of anticipation, he finally felt firm, hot flesh meet his entrance. The open mouth paused in place, Bashir’s hot breath puffing through the material. He blew gently, the air whispering and teasing the inner folds that had opened to him, turning the blood filling Garak’s ajan molten. A sharp spike of pleasure concentrated and pulsed between his legs and he stifled a cry, his hands clawing into the blanket. He didn’t even care that this man could so thoroughly unravel him, could render him speechless and writhing; all he knew was that he wanted _more_ and for it to _never stop._

A firm protrusion poked into his slit, as if Bashir was nuzzling his nose through the leggings and within Garak’s seam. How obscene. How utterly extraordinary. “You smell so amazing, Elim,” he heard in a muffled tone. “Can I taste you, too?”

“Oh, my dear Julian, do whatever you must, but do it soon.” Garak shut his eyes and pressed his head back into the blanket, hearing blades of grass crackle under the pressure. After their first encounter, Garak had tried to avoid returning to this activity, fearful of a shameful repeat performance. But the fire in his loins was too fierce to be denied any longer, and his will to hold back vanished under the ministrations of his talented lover.

The tight undergarment was peeled from his waist, tugged down over his thighs and knees, past his ankles, and then discarded in the grass somewhere beyond his feet. He hardly cared. Bashir’s flat, wet tongue swiped slowly from the bottom of his ajan to the top, covering just the outside scales, which were so thick and armored that it produced nothing more than a teasing twinge, and Garak cursed under his breath. The second attempt delved only a little deeper, the tip just barely swiping between his folds. Falling to pieces, Garak struggled to maintain a little coherence and dignity. “I was correct about your suitability to the field of espionage,” he ground out. “These techniques would draw confessions from the most hardened and well-trained agents of any organization.”

A deeper, slower lick traced upward inside him. “And what about you, love? Is there anything that you feel the need to confess?” Oh, that voice was absolutely wicked _and_ divine.

“Only that I’m going mad with wanting you,” Garak moaned.

“Hmm. I was hoping for something a little less obvious. I suppose I’ll have to try harder.” 

The infuriating young man was trying to kill Garak, wasn’t he? Death by repartee and fellatio. The corners of his mouth tugged up. There were worse ways to go.

He gasped as two thumbs pried him open, letting cool air seep into his opening. He could actually feel Bashir’s _lips_ inside him now, rippling as his tongue surged in and out. It sank further in each time, seeking out his sheathed pr’Ut with unerring accuracy. The roiling heat became a flare of lightning as the tongue’s tip encircled his emerging phallus. Pressure built within the cavity until he everted fully, Bashir’s mouth sucking him in to the hilt. Garak cried out, his hips lifting of their own accord. He could feel the head bob over and over again as the lips and tongue caressed him, pushing downward to his irrlun and then clutching and pulling him upward with a tight suction on each upward draw. As if that wasn’t enough, he could feel two fingers slipping in beneath his pr’Ut, twirling against the walls until reaching a second entrance. Before he could say anything to prevent their progress, they breached the ring of muscle where no proper Cardassian would ever dare. How filthy. Garak jumped, feeling like he had just leapt out of his skin. Bashir’s knuckles twisted against the moist skin of his slit as the fingertips teased and stroked in his most intimate place. A sharp jolt pierced him, followed by a rhythmic tingling vibration that he’d never experienced before. His hands ripped into the blanket as his knees shook against the human’s ribs at the onslaught of sensation. 

Bashir let the pr’Ut slide from his mouth to speak. “You don’t have to hold back, Elim. It’s okay to let go.”

Didn’t he understand? Garak didn’t _want_ to let go. He wanted the feeling to last and last until he melted into sublime senselessness. But all he could do was whimper in reply.

It took several long moments to realize that the human was slowly pulling away. Garak blinked into awareness, bereft at the loss of touch. Bashir was resting with his hands on his knees, smiling fondly down. “I love seeing you like this,” he said huskily. “You’re _gorgeous_. But if you’re so determined not to come yet, then I think I’d like to join you.” He dispensed with the remainder of his clothing before moving up to cover Garak’s body with his own. Straddling the ridged gray hips, he opened up a tube and began positioning himself to engulf the straining pr’Ut.

Garak grabbed his thigh and squeezed, nails digging in. “My dear Julian, if I don’t feel you within me again, I may just expire on the spot. Seeing as I would hate to leave that bearing on your conscience, I beg you indulge me.”

Bashir set the tube aside and met his eyes seriously. “Are you sure?”

Gritting his teeth, Garak managed a comeback. “Yes, well, I may have been exaggerating about the precarious state of my health.”

The human chuckled. “I meant about me being inside you. We haven’t done that yet. But… I’m willing if you are.” He lengthened out and wiggled, settling between Garak’s legs.

“An--an open mind… is the essence of intellect,” the tailor answered, enraptured and barely sane.

Firmly ensconced, Bashir lifted on one elbow for his other hand to lower himself into Garak’s ajan. Garak hissed as he felt the bulge enter. It was wider than a tongue or fingers, that was for sure. It felt as if the bulbous organ was moving forward a millimeter at a time, so slowly as to be almost imperceptible. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Julian rasped. “The angle is… a bit… tricky.” He glanced up, his hazel eyes smoky but concerned.

Despite his many lectures on the virtues of patience, Garak couldn’t deny his desire any longer. He wrapped his legs fully around Bashir’s before stretching both sets out. This resulted in jerking the human’s support out from under him and causing him to collapse over--and into--Garak, shoving inside rather roughly. 

Shaking, Garak paused a moment to absorb the consequences of his actions. Deep within, he felt stretched, and filled, and sore, but also _complete_ and satisfied. A hollow thrumming pulsed between the two of them as blood and hormones rushed into the region with every heartbeat. 

The human doctor looked startled, his eyes wide with astonishment. His breaths were quick and shallow. “Is that what you wanted?” he asked shakily.

“Yes. Quite.” Garak had only ever partaken in this form of engagement once before, and that time he’d been on the top. This took on a whole new dimension of intimacy and physical sensation. He reveled in the fullness of his lower abdomen and the lithe body tangled around his own. He knew without a doubt that there would never be another encounter, or another lover, to match this one. 

Bashir seemed to catch hold of the sentiment he felt, because the tense muscles in his face began to relax. With a soft smile, he leaned forward to kiss Garak on the tip of the nose, then the center, then the top, and lastly in the chufa. The Cardassian closed his eyes, overcome by a wash of serenity that emanated from the center of his forehead. He opened them back up to see the human searching his face, intent on every detail, his eyes flitting from cheeks to lips, eyebrows, nose, and back up to lock gazes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your eyes so blue,” he breathed.

Lacking words, Garak lifted his head to capture the expressive mouth, drawing Bashir’s head back down with him. Their lips molded together, meeting and parting before Garak thrust his tongue into the human mouth, wishing to claim as much as he’d been claimed. Bashir allowed him entry, moaning against him and raising one hand to run it through Garak’s hair. Tingles coursed across his scalp and down his spine. He returned the gesture while settling his other hand on the slim waist over his own. He kneaded the flesh of Bashir’s lower back, causing him to thrust lightly against Garak’s pelvis, releasing twinges even deeper inside than before. 

Their kiss strengthened, becoming more urgent with hard presses and teeth coming into play. Bashir began to rotate his hips, twisting and shallowly plunging in and out of Garak’s ajan as Garak stretched and retracted his legs, pulling the body over him up and down. They both began to pant and groan, hands growing impatient and kisses sloppier. 

Overtaken with lust, Garak shoved off and rolled them over until he was on top. He dug his knees into the ground and used the leverage to take his pleasure, winding and lunging to force Bashir’s cock at just the right angle inside him. The doctor took hold of his pr’Ut and began stroking quickly, his breaths growing thready. Garak could feel a crescendo building in his core, driving upward with each thrust. He dropped his head to the blanket, only to find the bare shoulder so close to his mouth too tempting to resist. He bit down on it, sinking his teeth into tight muscle and tasting the salt of human sweat over his tongue.

Bashir’s yelp turned into a long moan as Garak sucked the flesh into his mouth and licked across the slick skin. The tight muscle in his mouth provoked a carnal response that made him bite again, and then again further up. He wanted to gnaw and chew as that pitching body plunged into him over and over. Bashir’s hands flailed at his back, gripping and scraping down his scales, hard enough to draw blood. He hissed again, hoping the human would read it for the encouragement it was. But instead, he found himself flung over on his back again to be faced with a dark, determined expression and frenzied eyes full of fire. 

They rocked together so hard it was beginning to hurt, but both carried on unabated, unable to stop. Garak could feel the pressure from his ajan all the way into his lower back with each tight lunge. Driven out of his mind with pleasure, he licked all the way up the human neck before clamping down one last time on his shoulder and screaming into it as he came so hard it felt like shattering into a thousand pieces. Bashir muttered gibberish into his hair, shaking and clinging tightly until his body froze up and he, too, howled out. Garak felt every pulse of his cock as it released its load within him. 

They both collapsed at the same time, crumpling in a heap over the wrinkled and torn blanket. Bashir’s weight on Garak was so slight as to be almost negligible, but the pressure was still blessedly soothing. He held the trembling body loosely to himself, soaking in the warmth and comfort that lapped outwards like waves. 

Something tickled his cheek, and he opened his eyes, expecting stray hairs. Instead, the starry leaves of the tree overhead were wafting down all around them, like some Hebitian benediction. His fine-tuned sense of smell could just pick up their cinnamon-citrus scent over the mingled essences of his and Bashir’s lovemaking. 

The human twitched over him. “Hey, no tickling,” he complained. But he seemed to quickly realize that he was being brushed in several locations at once, not by Garak, and sat up to surveil the shedding plant. “What--”

A muted boom thundered throughout the station, knocking dozens of new leaves from the branches. Garak and Bashir looked at each other in alarm before diving into one another, both trying to tackle the other to the ground for protection. They collided roughly, chest to chest at an angle that spun them a half-turn before they fell to the blanket, still grasping on tightly. 

When no further rumbling erupted, they separated mutually to collect their clothing. 

As far as Garak could discern, there must have been a previous explosion or collision--or something--before, that dislodged the first rain of leaves, only he’d been too distracted to notice. 

Bashir donned his shirt first, and stood at wary attention with his bottom half still bare as he smacked at the badge attached to the breast pocket. “Bashir to Ops. It sounds like there’s been an explosion. I’m in Cargo Bay 6.”

After a few seconds of delay, a reply came through.

 _ <Dax to Bashir. According to sensors, it looks like some of the old fuel lines in the ore processing center ruptured and ignited the gases from an unprocessed pile of uridium. Luckily, no one was down there when it happened.> _ The doctor sagged in relief. _ <It looks like we won’t need your services for now, Julian.> _ the science officer said in a far gentler voice. _ <You enjoy yourself for the time being and stay on standby in case anyone gets injured cleaning up the mess.> _

“Yes, ma’am. Bashir out.” He glanced down at his unclad nethers before smiling bashfully at Garak. “Well, that was a fair bit of excitement.”

Garak adjusted the waist on his slacks as he took a step closer. “I’d say that was _quite_ a bit of excitement,” he corrected. “And the catastrophe in ore processing was rousing as well.” 

The human shook his head in exasperation before drawing on his own trousers. “I suppose we’ll have to put the picnic on hold. It’s a shame; I was looking forward to our little impromptu date.”

Garak shooed Bashir’s hands away from the buttons that he was hooking improperly and took over, using the distraction to cover his disappointment. “Think nothing of it,” he assured the human firmly. “I’m well aware the duties that befall one who is dedicated to their profession, morals, and people. Your devotion and allegiance are nothing short of admirable, my dear.”

Bashir grabbed Garak’s wrists, still fussily engaged in aligning the fabric of this shirt. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry to be leaving you.” He ducked his head, resting his brow to Garak’s chufa. “Really, really, truly sorry. I had a wonderful time all the same, you know.”

Feeling awkward but unable to restrain himself, he pulled the doctor closer against him until they were once more chest to chest, but this time with heads over each other’s shoulders in a tight hug. He’d never shared many embraces before; this was the first in which he felt compelled to rest his head and close his eyes and just _breathe._ They maintained the position for a minute or so before reluctantly drawing apart. 

Garak sighed at the cover tangled up on the grass and sat down on it to analyze the damage his nails had wrought upon the hapless fabric. He knew he should cut up the material for scrap, but also perversely wanted to keep it just the way it was as a reminder of what had taken place there. He halfway hoped the doctor would excuse himself soon so he could indulge in wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and mentally replaying their brief rendezvous in the peace and solitude of the garden. 

Against his better judgement, he gazed longingly at the man kneeling nearby, who was focusing on his footwear. “I suppose you don’t have time to convince me of your affections henceforth after all,” he bemoaned, adopting a tragic mien. “Ah, such is the life of a Starfleet officer, at the mercy of the Federation, with no regards to your private life or relationships, always at the beck and call of--”

With one loafer on and the other missing, the doctor crawled back over to his paramour and interrupted the monologue with one more long, deep kiss. “Such is the life of a _doctor_ , love, whether Human, Cardassian, or otherwise,” he admonished kindly. But instead of rising to leave, he sat on his knees and grabbed Garak’s hands. “But because you asked, _henceforth_ I plan to see you as often as possible, to love you with every _fiber_ of my being… and to lure you into complacency with my wanton body and cheeky wit until I can finally convince you of the true genius found in human literature.” He flashed an impudent grin and squeezed tightly, then let go with one hand to trace Garak’s jaw. “But on the off chance that I fail in that final quest, I’ll be content merely to bask in the glow of your attention. You are more amazing than you give yourself credit for, and I find myself enchanted by you a little more every day.” He bit his lip. “How am I doing?”

Flattered beyond reason and unable to form a response, Garak shifted his position, wincing as a hard lump poked his foot. He reached under the blanket to pull out the lost loafer. “I found your shoe.”

Bashir dropped his head, shoulders shaking. “I profess my love to you in verbose prose, and all the mighty Elim Garak can say is ‘I found your shoe’?” he coughed out through his laughter. He took the proffered item and donned it, still chortling to himself. “I’ve got to run now, but I’ll get back to you later so we can plan another little date. I believe you owe me an answer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, this story is rolling out of me so much easier than all of the other ones. So I’m just going to keep on writing, even though there isn’t really much plot, lol. Did I remember to add the “smut and fluff” tag….?  
> \---  
> It's probably going to be at least a week before the next update. The chapter is started, but I've been too busy to work on it as much as I'd like.


	7. Tuck and Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian surprises Garak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like detailed descriptions of setting, then this chapter is for you, lol.

Garak stifled his third sigh as he folded the final scarf for his shop’s center display. It wasn’t the arrangement that bothered him; that was quite inspired if he did say so himself. It was the fact that he hadn’t seen the dear doctor in 11 days. Bashir had volunteered his services to Bajor when they solicited for help suppressing a treacherous and often fatal fungal lung infection on one of the smaller continents. A particularly rainy season had exacerbated what was normally a mild seasonal disturbance, and the planet still recovering from the Occupation was woefully short on medical staff. During his stint on the surface, DS9’s CMO was able to briefly touch base with Garak via subspace video twice, but he’d look so worn down that the tailor sent him off to bed after only a few minutes of greetings and social commentary.

Garak and Bashir had been parted for longer periods before-- _ much _ longer--but this time somehow felt  _ different. _ Garak had come to treasure and rely on daily or near-daily dosages of time in the company of his human companion, who proved to be an invigorating and rejuvenating tonic, both for his frigid body and scarred soul. It was a gift he was unworthy of, but one that he was slowly learning to accept. 

That morning, Garak had awoken curled atop his bed in a fetal position, shivering violently. He must have kicked off his blankets during the night, most likely during one of his all too frequent nightmares. Rather than cover back up, he’d kept his arms around his knees, staring blankly at the wall as his muscles trembled. For a brief, horrible moment, he’d feared that the past two months were nothing but a dream. He’d trembled and stared blindly into darkness as panic stole his breath, color and sound bleaching from his existence until he was left swirling in a formless void from which there seemed to be no escape. At the realization that he was in the grips of an anxiety attack, reason reasserted itself almost immediately, but the rest of his body was slow to recover. It wasn’t until he finally rose and minced his way to the refresher that he began to calm down and convince his heart to cease its panicked pounding. Waiting for him on the counter under the mirror was a tube of Julian’s hair product. Garak had removed the cap and drawn a deep whiff, filling his nostrils with the scent of his beloved. The familiar smell of his living touchstone steadied him, making him almost weak with relief. 

There was more than a little temptation to sneak into the doctor’s empty quarters to return the tube… and maybe spend some time in  _ that _ bed instead. Just long enough to rub Bashir's mammalian scent into his scales. But of course he hadn’t. He had  _ some _ semblance of self-control and sufficiency, afterall. 

He did, really.

And just to prove it, he stalked back into his room and dressed in his thickest thermal underthings, most conservative tunic, and nicest pants, and did not once think of caramel coffee skin or knowing hazel eyes or the confident, silky voice of a young gentleman spilling dazzling secrets of the heart....

Snapping to, Garak shivered and rubbed his arms vigorously, stealing a quick glance around the shop to make sure no had witnessed his momentary lapse in attention and character. If only capes would make a comeback; that was a fashion trend he could get behind. Lacking a comely young buck to wrap around himself, a long length of flowing fabric affixed about the shoulders  _ just so _ would be the next-best thing. 

He sighed for the fourth time.

Was it too early to check his messages again? Bashir had sent him at least one text a day, just quick notes, but they arrived at unpredictable times. According to the chrono, it’d been almost an hour since his last peek. Seeing as there weren’t any customers, surely this was an indulgence he could afford. 

There was one new message.

Dearest Elim, I’m needed for one more day to finish a couple things up and then I’ll be home. See you soon. Lots of love, Julian.

The note was even shorter than the previous ones, but Garak was willing to forgive that due to the simple virtue of the endearments included.

Home. 

Bashir considered DS9 to be home, and that was where Garak waited for him. True, it was a large station, shelter to countless other denizens besides him. But still. 

Feeling considerably lighter, he finished the remainder of his shift with relative ease and closed without any further sulking. After locking up, he headed to Quark’s for a quick celebratory drink. One more day alone was manageable.

To his surprise, the proprietor of DS9’s illustrious and infamous bar looked none too happy at his arrival. “Garak,” he grumbled with a quick glance and curt nod.

“Good evening to you _ too _ , Quark,” he replied with his best customer service voice. Not because he wanted to be polite, but because he knew it would irk the snotty little Ferengi. “Might I trouble you for a glass of kanar? Or is Morn keeping you too busy this evening?” He peered pointedly in the direction of the mostly-empty seating area.

“No, no, its just…” the rest of whatever he said was grumbled under his breath as he turned and marched away.

Something was obviously bothering the man. Garak was mildly curious, but wasn’t sure that prying would really be worth his time. Perhaps a trader had merely shorted Quark on an order or delivered substandard supplies. It would serve the little toad right, to give him a taste of his own medicine.

To Garak’s amazement, a glass of deep reddish-orange kanar that smelled vaguely of citrus was delivered to the countertop in front of him. He didn’t recognize the vintage, but it looked to be of a much higher grade than the usual faire. 

The barkeep watched him until he took a tentative sip. “Well?”

“It’s… shockingly pleasant.” The flavor was rich, sweet and tart, and the liquor was at the proper viscosity of a quality, aged variety. “How much is this going to set me back?”

Quark almost smiled. “It’s already paid for. The bottle is yours. I’ll drop it off when you’re ready to leave. Or I can have it sent to your room, for a  _ small _ delivery fee.”

A gift from Julian? That had to be it. How thoughtful of him. There were no bounds to the doctor’s kind heart. Garak sipped at the drink while dreaming up ways to thank his gentle lover while surveying the few patrons spread out among the bar’s tables. 

His attention was drawn to a trio that had just entered the bar: Major Kira, Lieutenant Dax, and Professor O’Brien. Keiko met his eyes and smiled, peeling off from the other two to approach him. “Hi, Garak!” She offered her palm in the traditional Cardassian greeting, which he met gladly. She’d always been one to respect and acknowledge cultural diversity, and for that he appreciated her almost as much as he did Julian. She glanced at his drink. “Enjoying your kanar?” Her eyes twinkled.

“Yes, very much so. Should I assume you knew about this?”

She perched on the stool next to his. “It was Julian’s idea, but he ran it by us first.” Her smile was effusive, but one side was turned up a little higher than the other, as if she was hiding something. 

“Did he now? Judging by its presence, I’ll assume that you approved.”  _ She _ would have, anyway. He still wasn’t entirely certain about the Chief.

Keiko’s eyes softened. “I know how much you mean to Julian, and how much he wants to make you happy. You should have seen how much trouble he went through to pick out something he thought you’d like.” She checked back to where Nerys and Jadzia were beckoning. “I better join the ladies for girls’ night, but it was good seeing you.” She stood up and clapped the far end of his shoulder, an appropriate place for a friend to touch a Cardassian. Voice lowered, she angled closer. “You deserve this, Garak.  _ All _ of it.” And then she was gone.

All of what? The bottle of kanar? His time with Julian? It felt like there was something he was missing.

He finished off the drink not long after, and purposely took a detour past the table of socializing women. “Have a pleasant evening, ladies.” He nodded to them. 

Kira and Keiko returned the gesture, but Jadzia held up a finger. “Oh hey, Garak, I almost forgot. There’s something we need you to check out, down in ore processing. A few items in Stockpile Room Delta that we  _ think _ are Cardassian, but we’d like your opinion, just to make sure.”

Kira frowned into her drink, but Keiko looked interested. 

Dax continued. “If you’ve got time, could you check now? You know how Captain Sisko is; he doesn’t like having anything on his station that could pose a threat, now or in the future.” 

Well, he had nothing better to do at the moment, and his curiosity was now peaked. “Of course. I’d be delighted to help in whatever way possible.” He bowed slightly and excused himself. The response had been something of a lie, but it was always helpful to sound as accommodating as possible when a situation arose that could place someone in his debt. It was likely that he’d find nothing more than inert or broken devices left behind by the previous masters of Terok Nor. But maybe he could exaggerate their danger and find some way to “disarm” or “disable” one of the discoveries.

Garak wasn’t aware of the precise location of Stockpile Room Delta, but once Starfleet had moved in, they affixed numerous signs at most junctures and updated the schematics, making the blueprints available for public use. He followed precise directions through the main ore processing station and corridors, warming slowly and gratefully under the climate settings left at Cardassian standard. 

A few unusual scents began to permeate his nose. While recognizable, none of them would be expected in a space station, much less down in this hellish factory, but they were growing stronger nonetheless. Just what  _ had _ been found down here?

When the door opened to Stockpile Room Delta, he stopped up short. Far from the abandoned, stained, and broken scene he imagined, the large room was fully decorated and functional. Its floor was covered in a thick layer of wall to wall, golden sand. The ceiling, a solid ten meters above, held red-tinged lights that mimicked the effect if not the aura of the Cardassian sun. Arranged randomly around the room were pots of native  [ flora ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949294/chapters/60389701) , from succulents like a medium-sized ssirik to the red ball with yellow horns of a zeg’t’or.

The angular bars crossing the bulkheads were broken up by abstract paintings in earthen tones that suggested desertscapes and moonlit nights. In the far corner stood a large stone brazier for heating the room or producing steam, and next to it two long granite benches to recline on. The centerpiece of the room was a low, irregularly-shaped pool, no higher than halfway up his shin, the water’s surface level with his ankles. 

Garak stared. 

It wasn’t a bathhouse, nor a spa. But it was undeniably a place of repose and relaxation, and clearly targeted at his particular race. He entered cautiously, perusing the plants and brazier along the outer rim first before spiraling his way inward. He paused to admire the pool, which was composed of a very fine and beige-toned cement, with a wide, smooth, white lip for sitting on. He was fairly certain he knew its use, even if he’d never seen one in person. His desert-dwelling ancestors had known how to make good use of a puddle after rainstorms, each member of their small community taking a turn basking in it while a close friend or family member attended to them. And then once civilization delivered the gift of aqueducts, they no longer had to rely on the weather and began building their own puddle pools. 

Garak pivoted warily in a circle, but of course no one else was to be found in the cavernous space. Feeling a touch surreal, he removed his foot coverings, hitched up his trousers and thermal leggings, and seated himself on the ledge to place his feet in the water. It, too, was warm, and he could sense the faint circulation of a pump and filter.

“You wouldn’t believe how much trouble Quark had getting that sand transported here. The replicators aren’t permitted to transform the station’s resources into such a large quantity of anything,” a familiar voice quipped from behind him.

Bashir was standing in the doorway, that smug smile firmly in place. He practically swaggered over. “I see you’re already enjoying my present.”

Momentarily overcome, Garak bobbed his head and beckoned. The doctor took his hand, settling down next to him but in the opposite direction, with his boots in the sand. He eased their shoulders together and bussed Garak on the cheek.

“This is quite the surprise,” the overwhelmed tailor finally managed. On Cardassia, such a gesture wouldn’t be anything less than a marriage proposal, and even then, only among the rich and influential. “May I--” He cleared his throat. “Might I enquire as to what brought this on? And I thought you said you weren’t due back until tomorrow.”  _ And just how did you pull this off with me none the wiser?  _

Bashir nudged him. “I  _ may _ have lied about being needed for one more day. I wanted to surprise you.” He rotated so that he could face Garak, with one knee bent over the lip of the pool. “And there  _ is _ a story behind where all this came from, just… I’d rather talk about it later.” He cocked his head. “Do you have any plans this evening?”

“You know full well I don’t.”

“Now you do,” the doctor said decisively. “Strip.”

Garak’s jaw dropped. 

The human laughed softly and tapped upward on his chin, closing the jaw. “This is a  _ l’Ussep, _ isn’t it? A puddle pool? I don’t recall hearing of anyone using one while fully clothed.”

The tailor stalled, scanning the entranceway. “Are we assured privacy?”

“ _ Yes _ , love. I doubt anyone would come down here anyway, but just in case, I set the padd to ‘do not disturb.’” Bashir’s eyes crinkled in fond exasperation. 

Garak wasn’t accustomed to taking direct orders, but he could make an exception every once in a while. Especially when Julian was involved. He complied quickly and efficiently, folding each item to set on a stone bench far from the pool. There hadn’t been any indications that things would grow amorous or messy, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He returned to the basin and raised his brow ridges.

Julian looked pleased. “Right this way, sir. Your bath awaits.” With a flourish, he swept his hand out over the shallow water.

Garak stepped in, easing down onto the floor of the pool until he was completely prostrate on his back. The water lapped gently against his skin, a placid trail that undulated in a loop tracing his entire body, dancing along his sides but not submerging him. It was a few degrees warmer than the room’s air, and he suppressed the base instinct to wriggle in deeper, seeing as this was not an actual puddle with a sandy bottom. It wasn’t until he opened his eyes that he realized they’d been closed as he’d focused on the sensations engulfing him. 

Bashir shucked his jacket, but rather than set it aside, he folded it and rolled the heap into a tight tube. He leaned over, plunging the garment underwater to prod at Garak’s neck. “Up,” he instructed. 

Garak lifted his head, allowing the makeshift pillow to settle under his nape. It supported him just enough that he didn’t have to feel the hard concrete pressing against his skull.

Now in short sleeves, Bashir seated himself on the ground next to the low wall. He propped one arm on the shelf, then dipped the other into the water, swirling it around a little. “Just you lay there and rest,” he murmured soothingly. “And let me take care of you.”

Under other circumstances, that phrase would set Garak aflame, but the look on the doctor’s face was tender and focused, not sultry. So he inhaled deeply and let out a long, slow exhalation, shuttering his eyes again. Whatever all this was, they weren’t speaking about it yet, so he was content for the time being to literally soak in the human’s adoring attention. 

There was a rustle of fabric as Bashir changed position, then the light pressure of fingertips against Garak’s scalp. The digits combed downward and out, spreading the hairs away from his head to float on the surface. They returned again and again, steadily brushing in a radiating pattern until he could feel every strand floating in a halo around his head.

“Has anyone ever played with your hair before, Elim?” Bashir asked quietly. “Is that something Cardassians do?”

Here was a safe topic that could be answered honestly. “My people have a rich history of grooming and styling one another’s hair, although it is most common among the women. I’m sure you’ve seen the elaborate styles of Madams Ulani Belor and Gilora Rejal. Or Quark’s mistress, Natima Lang.” 

Not long ago, Garak had considered schooling Major Kira in the basics of Cardassian knotting and weaving to encourage the bond between her and Ziyal, but the chance had never seemed to present itself. And now it was too late. He tucked the gloomy memory back away, not wanting to cast a pall on the evening.

“Although carding hair  _ is _ a common component of the  _ l’Ussep _ ritual. Were you aware of that when you planned this, my dear?”

“No, I guess it was just lucky happenstance. But if you like it, I’ll continue.”

“Mmm. Please do.” The fingers continued brushing and stroking, scraping lightly down Garak’s scalp, sometimes continuing around to the back of his head. For several blissful minutes, the only sounds in the room were the quiet hush of breaths and trickles of water droplets as the lithe digits rose from and dropped back into the pool. His entire concentration centered on the tingles along his crown, beginning around his hairline and drawing downward. Occasionally, the fingers took a detour to curl behind his ears, tracing oh so lightly behind his ridges. 

He could feel various muscle groups begin to release their tension and his heartbeat to slow. Drifting in a sea of bliss, he could feel himself nearly drifting off to sleep. A firm kiss in the divot of his chufa rounded the feeling out, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling so cared for. “My Julian,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a specific scene in my head, but the buildup to it was so long that it became its own chapter. Mami94 and lighthouse_at_sea, I hope you found something to your liking in this last section! I was thinking of your comments when I wrote it!  
> I can’t believe this is over 20K words already...


	8. Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heart-felt exchanges are made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: a bite that results in a little bit of blood (marking)

At some point, Garak must have actually dozed off, because when he next opened his eyes it was to find Bashir’s head tucked into an arm on the ledge, eyelids closed and mouth slack. The other hand was still draped in the water, at rest on the bottom of the pool. 

Garak had always considered himself a private man, content to keep his own counsel, free to appreciate the peace and solitude of his own thoughts whenever he pleased. To have his own possessions, his own space. But the idea of waking up next to this person, this dear, sweet being, rising into consciousness to be greeted with that face each morning... It held a certain appeal. 

He chuckled softly when the sleeping features twitched as if his something had tickled his nose. It was endearing.

And so very, very confusing.

Why had Julian gone through all the trouble of designing, arranging, and purchasing the materials of this setup? What had driven him to build this… haven?

The more he grew to know the younger man, the more he loved him, but some aspects still baffled Garak. What kind of person spends a week and a half diagnosing, treating, and caring for hundreds of patients, then fills their free time coordinating efforts between distributors, traders, and delivery services in an endeavor to please their alien lover from the wrong side of a galaxy-wide war?

Someone who was selfless, that’s who.

Garak had always considered himself to be self-sacrificing in the way that most Cardassians did: willing to do whatever was necessary to uphold the sanctity of the State, with the belief that it would support its citizens in return. His personal happiness had been far less important than doing his duty for the good of his homeland, but it was still self-serving.

This was altruism of a whole other caliber.

He’d never known a person to give so freely to another, not without some hidden motives, some secret agenda, a multitude of invisible but choking strings attached. Yes, Bashir had hinted that there was some reason behind his actions, but Garak knew that whatever it was, it was from the heart. Not because he expected a gift in return.

The hazel eyes over him fluttered open. “Hey,” the human mumbled groggily, with a loving smile. “I missed you.”

Garak beamed back. “I haven’t gone anywhere, my dear.”

“You know what I mean. While I was gone. On Bajor.” He paused to yawn. Water splashed and then ran down his arm as he withdrew and arched his back in a pronounced stretch. “Every time I had lunch, I wished you were there to hash over literature with me. Every time I went to bed, I missed you curling up and joining me. And every time I considered leaving, I pictured you waiting there at the airlock to greet me.” He dropped his hands into his lap. “Every night, I dreamed about coming home, and you were there. DS9 isn’t home without you.”

Garak watched as a hand extended across to caress his cheek. He wrenched his head to the side suddenly, capturing the bronze wrist between his teeth. He hadn’t intended to do so, but now that the flesh was in his mouth and he could taste the spicy sweet musk of the man, he clamped down harder. His heart remained shockingly calm, but a restless  _ something _ raised its head and took notice.

The tawny face looking down at him didn’t register shock or fear, no disgust or wariness. Just acceptance. Surrender. As if he had some semblance of what the act meant, and welcomed it. Still operating on instinct, Garak steadily drew backwards, urging the wrist bones out of his mouth until only a pinch of skin remained between his incisors. Locking eyes, he bit down sharply. Salty, coppery blood dripped into his mouth as Bashir hissed but didn’t withdraw. Garak lapped leisurely at the cut, savoring each drop. The human watched him silently, breath steady and even. Garak reached up to cradle his forearm, rotating it to lay a kiss on the inside of the wrist. “I missed you too, my Julian,” he said huskily. “And although I resided here before your arrival,  _ your presence  _ is what made this place my home.”

Bashir ducked his head. “Is that what this means?” He stared at the arm still in Garak’s hands. “That I’m…  _ home _ for you?”

The Cardassian sighed and released his hold, sitting up. “Not precisely.” He folded his knees up to his chest and hugged them, suddenly aware of his nakedness. “It’s more of a… claiming. A marking. Albeit not a permanent one.”

The doctor furrowed his brow in thought. “If it’s not permanent, then why do it?”

Garak seriously considered bluffing his way through the conversation. Of protecting his secrets, his heart. But he felt like he owed Bashir the truth. After what they’d been through in the past several weeks, it wouldn’t feel right to hold this back. “I meant to say that it’s not  _ currently _ permanent; your wrist could heal cleanly on its own from this point. But for a Cardassian, if the feeling is mutual, the receiving partner would… bite back. Leave an equal mark.” He didn’t miss the way those liquid eyes darted down to his own wrist before lifting back up again. “Then something would have to be done to ensure scarring. There are ways to prevent the mark from closing immediately, or salves to slow the healing process, some of them even containing pigments to create a sort of tattoo. But,” he licked his lips, “the most popular way is to continue biting the same place repeatedly, usually during copulation. You may notice that adult Cardassians always keep their wrists covered; many marks are fairly large, and jagged. Some couples break them open periodically even past marriage, as a sign that they continue to claim each other and wish to share their live’s essences.”

Bashir gazed up at the ceiling, eyes flickering back and forth with his thoughts. “Does--” he bit his lip and frowned. “Does the mark always result in, ah, marriage?”

“In the old days, yes, almost always. But in these times, a simple run over with a regenerator could erase any evidence of such a claim or promise.” Which could be especially helpful in the cases when claiming was forced, or the pining unreciprocated. Regardless of how well things had gone so far, Garak was unsure how his lover would feel about the mark and whether or not to keep it. He felt confident the right course of action was offering the option to remove any evidence to pretend that this had never happened.

“A claim or promise,” Bashir repeated. “So, is it kind of like an engagement ring? A… a betrothal?”

Garak could still taste the hot liquid on his tongue, and he craved more with every breath. But he resolutely stuck with the truth. He was firm. “ _ Only _ if the mark is returned. And scarred.” 

The doctor looked perplexed. “Elim, did you  _ mean  _ to bite me? Or was it just some--some impulse? I’m sorry, but it just seems sort of sudden and  _ serious _ and… I didn’t realize you felt that way about me.”

He avoided a straight answer. “I could ask the same thing of you, my dear. It has been a relatively short time since we altered the nature of our… relationship. And yet you arranged to have a small piece of my home reconstructed in the bowels of a space station while in the midst of an epidemic. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, no, but doesn’t it seem a tad…  _ extravagant?” _

Bashir puffed up, immediately defensive. “Surely you found my financial records when you invaded my personal files? You should know by now that I’m quite wealthy.”

“ _ Actually _ , no I haven’t. And I conducted a thorough search, too.” Garak was so caught up in trying not to sound petulant that he didn’t realize until later that he’d admitted to snooping. “So I’m inclined to believe that you’re not being truthful. The Federation doesn’t even  _ use _ currency.”

“Of course they don’t. But I live on a Bajoran station that experiences a lot of travel and trade, and everyone else who lives or passes through here  _ does  _ utilize various forms of money _. _ Starfleet gives us a small stipend to make do. How do you think we can afford the drinks and holosuites at Quark’s?”

Garak waved that off. “Yes, I was aware of  _ that _ . But what did you do with the rest, since the Federation won’t allow latinum and litas to be transferred into credits?” Garak purposely distracted Bashir with the minutiae to keep him busy while his brain spun its gears. How had the doctor managed to amass a small fortune with Garak none the wiser? 

And beneath that, a smaller, more detail-oriented part of his mind also bemoaned the fact that--despite apparently having substantial wealth at his disposal--when off duty, the human dressed from a replicator most of the time.

Bashir was still in the midst of his explanation. “It’s not that hard to calculate the odds at Dabo. Ever since I got on DS9, I’ve won cand collected small amounts here and there. I kept them locked away for a while until I met Ishka, and since then she’s been managing my portfolio and helping me invest in private companies around the quadrant.”

“Quark’s mother?” Garak asked incredulously. Well, that would explain why he hadn’t found any traces of the funds. While her son wasn’t nearly as clever as he thought he was, his Moogie had a much keener business sense. She’d managed to conceal her own earnings from the entire Ferengi Alliance for decades. “I think I’m beginning to see now, Julian,” he conceded. “But… why spend so much of your savings on  _ me _ ?”

Bashir threw up his hands. “Who  _ else _ am I going to spend it on? I’m barely on speaking terms with my parents, and thanks to them, I lost contact with the rest of my family  _ years  _ ago. We moved around so much that I never formed any close relationships until joining Starfleet. And since then… well, I haven’t heard from Palis since she got married, and Felix can make anything he wants in his holograms.” He sucked in a breath. “Jadzia and Miles are my primary friends now, but most of what they want for their birthdays can be easily replicated. Except that one time I found a Glenlivet from the 22nd century. But to be honest, I was beginning to wonder why I’d even collected so much money in the first place. I was almost of a mind to just donate it away to the Bajoran and Cardassian war orphans.”

That did sound like his dear doctor. “You didn’t spend it  _ all _ on me, did you?” Garak was afraid to hear the answer.

But Bashir laughed merrily. “No! There’s still tons left over.” He bent over, conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Quark, but I have about twice as many bricks to my name than he does.”

Garak felt his eyes go wide. Wealthy, indeed. Would the gentleman be interested in investing in a local tailor’s business, he wondered.

Bashir scooted closer to the pool and laid his hand on Garak’s arm. “Look, if it bothers you that much, this really wasn’t all that expensive. After the uridium incident a few weeks back, I came down here to find this room just sitting around unused. Captain Sisko let me have it. I offered to pay rent, but since he didn’t actually have the authority from Bajor _ or _ Starfleet to give it away, he didn’t want any records of what was going on. In fact, I think he implied that if we ever entertained Cardassian dignitaries, I could charge  _ them _ for using it.” 

Garak was impressed. 

The human continued. “Sand doesn’t cost much; I paid more for the labor of loading and unloading it than the sacks themselves.” He pointed around the room. “Keiko got me the plants at a discount because they were left behind after the Cardassians evacuated Bajor.” A vague gesture out into the ore processing center. “And we have the resources right here to produce cement. Rom found a couple engineers for me who needed some cash to help out.” He shrugged. “All in all, it might  _ look _ like a lavish, profligate venture, but I assure you it wasn’t.” He grinned briefly, but there was something beseeching hidden behind the move, and his shoulders hunched, as if there was more to say but he was reluctant to bring it up.

Garak prompted him to continue.“Yes, dear?”

“Elim, I… I contacted Damar. I offered your government a bribe. Everything I had, for your return to Cardassia. For you to be brought out of exile.” Garak’s heart leapt, even though he could already hear the despair evident in Bashir’s voice. “He said that they would normally consider it, what with the Obsidian Order being gone and all, but because of their alliance with the Dominion… The Founders won’t allow it. They haven’t forgotten that you tried to annihilate their homeworld. Your return is… forbidden.”

The brief sear of hope faded into dust. He’d known. Deep down, he’d known. He could never go back. 

It didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected. Maybe it was partially tempered by the knowledge that Bashir had been willing to surrender his entire fortune for his happiness.

The generous human reached down to take both of Garak’s hands in his. “I love you, Elim, and I wanted to do the best I could to make you happy. But when it didn’t work…” he bit his lips and squeezed his eyes shut, a tear leaking out. “That’s why I did this. I couldn’t send you home, so I--I tried to bring a little bit of home here.”

“Oh, Doctor.” Garak lifted out of the pool and perched on the wall, pulling Bashir up with him in a hard embrace, the water sluicing down his scales unnoticed. They clung to each other tightly, both in misery and affection, shared equally between them. “I told you, my dear.  _ You _ are my home now.” It wasn’t what he’d pictured 10 or even 5 years ago, but it was enough. It had to be.

“You’re my home, too,” Bashir whispered back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooookay, so I finished that particular scene but feel like there’s more to say. A lot more. At this point, we’re looking at 13 chapters! Maaaaaybe 14.  
> But I’m fairly certain that’ll be the end. 
> 
> We’ll see.


	9. Sprouting Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promises are made ABOVE an aurora (not under one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized this fic is following a pattern (story, story, SEX, story, story, SEX), which designates this chapter as more play time (that’s why we read E, right?). Plenty of angst and fluff to follow in the next one.  
> CW: marking bites, a little more blood

After the tears faded and their arms grew stiff, the couple eventually drew apart. Garak’s scales had dried off in the hot and still air, so he considered getting dressed while Bashir remained on the edge of the _l’Ussep_. His head was bowed, face vacant and deep in thought. It was a look Garak was all too familiar with, when that genius mind latched onto an idea and worried over it like a riding hound with a vole bone.

He offered his hand to the seated figure. “Are you ready to go up to bed, Doctor? I’m sure it’s grown quite late.” 

Bashir’s eyes drew into focus and fixated on his arm. In what felt like slow motion, Garak found his hand and forearm enfolded in vice-like grips. Bashir’s hands immobilized him, deliberately bending his mouth to the gray limb. Hot lips enveloped it, and sucked at his skin, tasting with little flicks of the tongue. Then he sensed the prickle of teeth and Garak gasped, struck dumb, until their eyes met. There was aggression visible, a wanting and a claiming in its own right, and Garak had an idea how he must have looked earlier. Savage. Possessive. Aroused. 

But this was his Julian, and there was a questioning, too. Was this permissible? 

He nodded his consent, already anticipating the sharp sting of pain. It flared and disappeared almost instantly, absorbed by a greedy tongue and furnace of a mouth. An answering twinge echoed lower and deeper inside Garak. He stood rooted in place, eyes fluttering shut, even though he wanted to memorize every detail of the body bent over his wrist. He could feel the constriction of a swallow before he was let go and reluctantly drew his arm back.

He reopened his eyes to the sight of a blissfully dazed face staring up at him. There was a faint, deep red streak smeared over the full bottom lip. He wanted to suck on that pout until the flesh was heated and swollen, then lick every last speck of it clean. All in good time. “Let’s adjourn to one of our residences. Shall we?” he offered with a suggestive smolder.

“Oh!” Bashir sprang up, instantly transformed. “Ah, about that. While you were in Quark’s, I may have… broken into your quarters.”

Despite being disappointed by the sudden change in tone, Garak didn’t feel anything but pride at the admission. “And you managed to do so without setting off any of my alarms, too. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I did. Just a moment.” The doctor hurried from the room, returning with his arms once again laden with a heaping blanket, the same one he’d gifted Garak not so long ago. “There’s one _little_ bit more to your surprise. I thought about saving it for another day, but, well… I just couldn’t wait.” He radiated anticipation.

Bemused, Garak smiled back. “You have my _full_ attention.”

Bashir’s long legs carried him across the room to the far wall. “When I was exploring, I could tell something was different over here. The air currents felt wrong, and the sound was just a little bit _off_ . So I ran a few scans, did a little--” he knocked on a few panels “ _examination…_ and… there!” A small section of bulkhead tilted under his touch, revealing a lever. He pulled it. “I present to you: the Bajoran Resistance!” A concealed door slid open, only half his height, revealing a dark space. The human ducked in, turned on a light, and stuck his head back out. “It’s bigger than it looks, I promise. Come in!” He waved enthusiastically.

Garak hesitated. “I’m hardly dressed for an excursion, Doctor.”

“No clothes are necessary! It’s just the two of us. You won’t need any weapons, either.” He fluttered his eyelashes. “I _promise.”_

Against his better judgement, Garak relented. He wasn’t sure what was so exciting about the discovery of an illicit hideout, but decided it would be in his best interest to humor his excitable lover. After all, who knew when knowledge of hidden access points and passages would come in handy.

Just as he bent over to enter, Bashir leapt in front of him. “Just so you know, this room isn’t the surprise; there’s more.” Then he backed away to allow entry. 

The space was maybe 5 meters by 6, strewn with stolen supplies and debris. Blankets, foodstuffs, weapons, and tools lay about. Luckily, enough time had passed for any lingering smells to have dissipated through the ducts. 

Bashir was practically dancing on his toes next to another wall, which he pushed at until a panel gave way, opening outward into a corridor. Garak found himself tugged along by the hand, passing between close but not constricting walls, sparsely illuminated with exposed wires from the masses of conduits passing overhead. He suddenly collided with the body that had paused in front of him. “Watch your feet now, there’s a shaft here that we’ll have to climb down.” Bashir tossed the blanket into a dark hole that gaped at his feet. He followed it, lowering himself rung by rung. “C’mon love. You’ll enjoy this, I promise.”

Garak leaned over the shaft. It only extended 3-4 meters down, opening into… well, it appeared to lead out into space. Stars twinkled below. Bashir had slipped out of sight, but could be heard shuffling around. The chamber at the other end flashed a bright purple, then fell dark again. Highly intrigued, Garak descended. Once he reached the final step, he paused over the emptiness yawning below his feet. 

Bashir appeared just under him. “The gravity is really weak in here. You can just let go and drop down. The resistance seems to have installed a disruptor that interferes with several of the station's systems, no doubt to prevent their detection, and so it--” He barreled on, but Garak was too distracted with gingerly lowering himself to give the lecture his full attention. Eventually, he just gave in and let go. But instead of a quick drop and fast stop, he just drifted downward until his feet came to rest on a thick pane of glass. The Alpha Quadrant stretched out on the other side. 

His human glided over, the blanket wafting away from his arm like the tail of a gown in a river current. His face lit up in a bright pink that blurred into purple, then faded away. “Did you know that DS9 currently has its own aurora?”

Caught off guard, Garak stammered, “No. No, I did not.”

Bashir pointed down and inward towards the base of the station's central core. “There’s a leak of ionized Nitrogen. Just a small one. But it’s enough that when plasma from the Bajoran sun hits it just right, the particles get excited and emit colored light. I got the Chief to hold off on getting it fixed until tomorrow morning.”

“...So that you could show me?” Garak had to admit that the phenomena did sound interesting, and it put on an attractive display.

The doctor curled an arm around his shoulders, draping the thick fabric across them both . “So we could… watch it. Together.”

Just then, another brilliant flash filled the space. They both observed, enthralled, as a ribbon of plum light wound about under their feet, shifting into indigo and royal blue, then through several purples and into rose and magenta. It was more than a little stirring.

Garak leaned in to Bashir’s ear. “I believe it’s _your_ turn to strip, my dear. I’d like to see _you_ get excited and turn colors. My own private aurora.” He could already picture the fine, supple skin rippling in waves of multi-hued, radiant luminescence. 

The chest pressing into his arm rumbled with a deep groan. “Mmm. God, Elim. I wasn’t even that turned on yet, and now I could come just from the sound of your voice.” With his jacket still somewhere back in the sand, Bashir peeled the undershirt over his head with ease, tossing it into a corner. The slacks perfectly demonstrated their name, dropping to his feet as soon as the waist was loosened, and his briefs followed close behind. 

With the thick comforter still draped over his shoulders and the lights of the tunnel far above, the human’s skin was even darker than usual, dusky and opaque like a stone statue. The shadows in every dip and hollow molded around him, accentuating each line and curve of his body. Eyes as black as onyx regarded Garak levelly as he turned a dial on the wall. 

All at once, they both levitated off the floor. The blanket slipped from his frame, and the aurora burst into life.

Illumination blazed throughout the chamber. In the silence of space, the faintest hiss of subatomic particles releasing photons whispered beyond the window. Ripples of violet, lilac, carmine, and sapphire danced over Bashir’s hide. 

A being composed of flesh and light reached for Garak, dragging him closer until their legs entwined. 

“You look like a pile of gems,” Bashir rumbled. “Every scale of every ridge is a different color.” He crushed their bodies together and spoke into Garak’s lips. “I love you more than life itself, Elim.” And then they were kissing like they never had before, soft and tender and fluid, then deep and measured and searching, as if they could find the answers to the universe inside each other. 

Perhaps they could.

Garak delved his tongue into the hot cavern of a mouth, desperate to pull more heat into himself as his fingers plunged through Bashir’s thick mane of hair. He moaned, or at least he felt a moan; it shared the same breath and could have originated inside either of their throats. He didn’t notice when the aurora faded and darkness slipped back in, but it hardly mattered. Their eyes were closed, heightening all of their other senses, and the dazzle continued to dance between them, igniting taste and touch and smell as their limbs twisted and extremities caressed. Hands, feet, ankles, wrists, noses, ears… all were brushed and skimmed, nuzzled and stroked. 

At some point in their floating dance, other parts of their bodies joined in, adding pangs and surges within their groins to the barrage of sensations. Bashir nibbled his way from up Garak’s shoulder, along the ridge until he was just below the jaw, and the Cardassian messily everted, the slick of his secretions beginning to seep out between his legs. It was so easy to simply cant his hips back and take Bashir’s member in hand, then guide it to breach his entrance and slide in. He sucked in a breath as the engorged member penetrated and filled him, his nails raking down Bashir’s tender back until they found purchase at the hips to dig in and clasp, pulling their bodies flush.

“Julian,” he exhaled. 

“Elim,” his lover returned, and their bodies began to move together, thrusting and withdrawing in tandem.

Their knees locked, toes pointing downward towards the stars as their combined form slowly twirled in the weightlessness, and a throbbing fervor suffused them. Bashir’s cock plunged into Garak at a steady and unrelenting pace, and he met every heave with a push and squeeze of his own. An aching burn built up within his ajan, and flames flickered outward until, without warning, they erupted into shooting spasms of pleasure that pooled in his belly and fired down his legs. He threw his head back and yelled out in surprise and release, pulsing from his pr’Ut and throughout muscles clenched tight around the phallus sluicing between his inner walls.

Bashir paused, gulping deep, shaky breaths. “Elim. Oh, Elim.” He slowly withdrew, but not completely, until just the head of his cock was ensconced. But then he leisurely pushed back in, eyes pinched shut, until he was completely buried inside Garak. He repeated, drawing back, pressing inward, pulling out and fitting in at a glacial pace.

Garak gritted his teeth, riding the crest of a second swelling wave as the doctor mouthed up and down along his neck ridges. He knew that he ought to be nibbling on an ear or rolling a nipple between his fingers to build up his partner’s experience as well… He wanted to ensure Bashir felt not just satisfied but _sublime,_ only he was too far gone in passion by this point, and maybe next time…

Next time…

He clutched at the tan biceps in his hands, mouth parted to gasp and taste their air, and his thoughts fluttered off along with the lost photons outside the space station. 

Bashir paused as he slid up to the hilt, and his kisses reached Garak’s jawline where he suckled at the most sensitive scales. He raised his hand to cup the other cheek, his thumb caressing the ridges.

Garak turned his lips into the hot, curved palm and darted his tongue out to trace the creases. Bashir cursed, jerking in place. Garak’s sensitive nose picked up the salty tang of blood seasoned with the sweet musk of pheromones, and it proved too great a temptation to ignore. He nibbled down the nearly translucent skin of the wrist until he reached the unhealed depression from earlier. It tasted of ironstone in the surf. The foundation of his brain stem ignited, triggering signals from the base of his skull to the root of his spine. Driven by primitive desire, he clamped his mouth around the forearm and sank in. Tendons and muscles flexed under his teeth, and a trickle of fiery fluid dribbled onto his tongue. He lapped at it and swallowed eagerly, caught in the grip of instinct so tightly that he barely registered the cock still pumping between his legs.

He pulled away, then offered his own hand to Bashir’s mouth, presenting his wrist in supplication, or surrender, a mute petition. It was a blatant entreaty to join with him, to own him, to possess and be possessed. 

For the two of them to be one and the same. Unified. Blended.

Even if only for tonight.

Whatever Bashir uttered was untransferable through the universal translator, but it hardly needed to be put into words. The sound could be identifiable by any humanoid species as so lost in passion that it had been rendered incapable of speech. The human brushed across the offering, back and forth, his lips as soft as feathers, his hips stuttering and breath thready. But then his human teeth sought out the meat of Garak’s inner wrist and nipped a few times before reaffirming a tighter hold. 

“Harder,” Garak gasped. “Like you mean it.”

The bite was swift and intense, and it stung like a needle that missed a stitch. He hissed as a flare of elation spiked through him.

Bashir abandoned his target almost immediately to capture Garak’s mouth in his own with a fervent moan, and launched into a rocking side to side motion that stimulated his partner’s irrlun and drove him insane. Garak met it with a rolling lunge of his own. Bashir grabbed hold of his neck ridges, and he wound a fist into the doctor’s hair. They huffed and swore in turns as they corkscrewed against each other. 

Bashir began crooning, needy sounds of exaltation on every breath. He plunged into Garak’s ajan mercilessly, speeding up and losing rhythm as he became lost in the act. Without the downward exertion of gravity, Garak wrapped his legs around the thrashing waist. The angle of penetration altered, and suddenly the pleasure surged even stronger with every thrust. Bashir’s human cock roughly stroked the tendons beneath his pr’Ut, eliciting sharp jolts through his member, and he could feel a second climax rapidly approaching.

The momentum of their dance had brought them within reach of the wall, and Garak groped almost blindly for the dial with his free hand. He needed to feel pressure, the solidity of flesh and bone over him. His fingers located the round knob and flicked at it, while his arm pushed off the bulkhead to spin them around. All at once, the gravity kicked in and they dropped to the windowed floor, with Garak on the bottom. 

Bashir’s deep, dark eyes flickered with violet sparks as they locked gazes, and their mouths crashed together in one final, searching kiss as their hips snapped together wantonly. The cold vacuum of space seared at Garak’s back, but the body above him was burning up, branding his scales. Then it was spilling molten seed inside him, and he arched his back, begging for more, for deeper, and Bashir didn’t stop, didn’t let up until the aurora flared even brighter, and everything was purple light and biting lips and crashing waves in the loudest silence he’d ever heard. He came hard, heels and shoulders digging into the surface under him, his throat locked and mouth gaping in a mute scream.

When his muscles couldn’t hold the strain any longer, they released, and he collapsed beneath Bashir, temporarily blanking out. Solicitous as ever, the doctor was swift to take action. He dragged the thick cover over and rolled them onto it before tucking it tight about their limbs and shoulders to ward off the encroaching chill.

Garak’s senses returned slowly. First, the texture of the blanket and Bashir’s skin against his scales, then the smell of their sweat, the sound of soft exhales as their bodies returned to equilibrium, and lastly, the view of the struts and windows of the room around them. The only light came from the corridor above and the occasional sprinkling of pink, purple, or blue from the aurora. 

Bashir slid his slacks over and tucked them under Garak’s head so his skull wasn’t pressed into the glass, then propped himself up on one elbow to gaze fondly down while he traced the rises and dips of the Cardassian’s intricate torso under the comforter. He winced when the mark on his wrist caught on a scale, but didn’t complain. 

Garak’s own forearm stung in a distant sort of way, a reminder of what had transpired in the throes of passion. He feared that in all likelihood the move had been ill-thought-out, and in the morning he may regret it, or Julian may withdraw his reciprocation. But while everything was still fresh, his heartbeat rapid and bright, he let himself bask in the afterglow. There was one final step to the ritual, and he wanted to complete it, just to say that he had--once in his life--been promised to someone. 

He lifted his arm to press their wrists together so that their marks came in contact. He imagined he could feel their cells intermingling, their souls bleeding together. Julian’s dreams swirling around his cold calculation, Julian’s exuberance tangling with his temperance. Their combined resolution, defiance, belligerence, and even mischief compounding into something solid and immovable. Something not even a dermal regenerator could erase. 

Bashir stared down at him solemnly and intently. “I love you, too.”


	10. Hesitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak doesn't know what to do with his feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keiko is wise. Garak is not good at taking advice. A shorter chapter. I mostly just wanted to get away from the station for a while and give Garak some fresh air. But I think there’s something developing...

Keiko wrapped her hands around a mug of tea. “It’s perfectly natural to feel nervous about taking the next step in a serious relationship.” Her eyes darted down to Garak’s wrist. Chagrinned, he realized that she’d caught him fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, right over the marks. “But the important thing is to determine  _ why _ you’re scared, and if your worries are justified.”

Garak resented the implication that he was  _ afraid _ of anything. He was merely being… cautious. For his sake  _ and _ Julian’s. He stared down into the depths of his own tea, reigning in the impulse to drum his fingers on the table. That would only make him appear more anxious. Which he wasn’t. Keiko was just assigning human emotions to his natural Cardassian wariness. Her lips pursed in amusement, as if she could read his thoughts. She raised her cup for a sip and to tactfully hide what was undoubtedly a smirk at his expense. 

She really was a delightful woman. What in all the worlds had the Chief done to deserve her? 

“Were you…” Garak searched for the right word, “ _ apprehensive _ about committing to Mr. O’Brien?”

“Ha! You have no idea.” Keiko set down her drink and shook her head, eyes distant as she reminisced. “Miles and I had a few troubles with clear communication for a short time, and… we almost didn’t get married.”

“Are you glad that you did?” Garak knew he was prying, but he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t just that he wanted reassurance; he was also genuinely concerned for her as a friend. Professor O’Brien was the one person on the station that he truly enjoyed gardening with, and over the years they’d developed a mutual appreciation for one another, a certain level of understanding. If he hadn’t already been infatuated with Dr. Bashir, he might have pursued her, bigoted husband or not. Her clever wisdom, dry wit, and keen observational skills were admirable, and those eyes could pierce right into you. He had no doubt she would have made a fine intelligence operative had she ever been so inclined.

“We’re not talking about me and Miles; this is about you and Julian.” She raised her eyebrows primly and took another sip. Her face held an expression that Garak had employed often enough to recognize the evasion for what it was. Wisely, he let the matter drop. “I  _ think _ I know what’s bothering you,” Keiko commented. “But I really can’t give you advice unless you tell me for sure.” She looked around them to the empty gardens. “Want to walk and talk?”

They left their drinks on the wrought-iron patio table and set off down the path. Garak wasn’t used to acknowledging his feelings, and it took time to find what he needed to say. It wasn’t that he feared for the doctor’s safety; Bashir had proved his strength and resilience time and again against a number of foes. If Garak so much as hinted that some of his old adversaries might take an interest in their relationship and try to put an end to it, the brash boy would probably scoff right in his face. No, he was much more worried that  _ he’d _ hurt Julian. That he’d poison what little happiness they could eke out together in this bleak war, that he’d inevitably make one wrong choice too many and finally drive the human away. What could a spy with five decades of loveless existence know of tenderness and devotion? What could an exiled tailor ever hope to offer a mate? And that was just the apex of the sand dune.

He hadn’t realized how lost in thought he was until Keiko laid a hand on his arm. “A lot to think about, huh?” 

He studied a coral and green striped flower with towering petals, not meeting her eyes. 

She stepped forward into his peripheral view. “Maybe that’s just what you need right now. Time to think. A couple days apart. I’m sure Julian would understand.” 

Yes, Julian was always very understanding.

“You may be right, Professor O’Brien.” He wished she’d kept her last name. Keiko Ishikawa fit the feisty little woman so much better. He took her hands and placed a small kiss on her cheek, far back by the ear. She blushed prettily. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me, my dear. And thank you for the tea. I didn’t know anyone had access to Red Leaf these days.”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him back. “Oh, you know botanists. If it’s a plant,  _ someone _ knows where to find it. I’ll put together a package for you and drop it by later.” She squeezed his hand. “And maybe some Tarklean for Julian, too. You don’t even have to tell him it’s from me. It’ll be our little secret.” She winked.

Yes, she was a fine woman.

After they departed, Garak headed back to his quarters instead of reporting to his shop.

He wasn’t afraid of being in a committed relationship, he told himself. He was simply looking out for Julian’s best interest. Surely, a promising young doctor with decades of discoveries and breakthroughs ahead of him would be making a mistake by chaining himself to Garak. 

No matter how enticing the idea was.

He allowed himself a brief fantasy: sending Julian away on some contrived mission, only for the human to return a week later to an empty residence, at which point Garak would invite him to come stay in  _ his _ . Upon arrival, Julian would find all of his possessions  _ there _ instead, mixed in with Garak’s- clothing side by side, data rods sharing a shelf, Julian’s bed draped with Garak’s tailored sheets. Waking side by side, sharing morning tea, kissing each other off to work… leaving his shop early to have dinner waiting for the doctor after he finished a long, grueling shift… reading together on the couch before retiring to the bedroom, where they would change into night clothes while finishing a debate over classical Cardassian literature versus post-modern Lurian. And then tumbling into bed, only to dive under the covers for warmth because their pajamas had been shucked shamelessly and tossed onto the floor… and finally falling asleep tangled together in exhaustion after an enthusiastic bout of lovemaking.

It was an absolutely ridiculous dream, but one that he longed for more than he could have ever thought possible. Even worse was Bashir’s willingness to leap into this course of action head-on and with no reservation. It was one thing to utter a few words of endearment during a moment of vulnerability; it was another to build someone a replica of their homeworld and accept their proposal after only two months of physical intimacy. Garak had gotten carried away, let the undeniable romance of the haven and aurora get the best of him, and he was certain Bashir was the same. It was no secret that they were both overly sentimental fools.

Keiko was right. He needed time to think, time  _ away _ from the person who compromised him so thoroughly. He needed to make a detailed evaluation of not only himself but his partner, their compatibility, their possible future. As well as take into consideration the conflicts beyond their little sphere, which were likely to influence  _ every _ aspect of those details.

He wasn’t running away.

He was assessing.

Inside the false bottom of a flowerpot was a datarod from Ziyal. He inserted it into his console and accessed the file labeled “Kindor Home for Minors.” The information was straightforward enough, he felt. A visit should be a fairly simple affair.

Garak had told Bashir once that he believed in coincidences but didn’t trust them. That wasn’t necessarily true. During their lunches and time in the Cardassian sauna program, Ziyal had repeatedly pestered him to send aid to the orphans down on Bajor. Especially the ones who were of mixed races, half Cardassian and half Bajoran, and unlikely to ever be claimed by either side. She’d obviously felt a kinship with them, and he’d placated her with the assurance that yes, he would eventually take some sort of action. But circumstances had drawn his attention elsewhere, and his vague promise never grew into fruition. And then last night, Julian had mentioned the idea of handing his wealth over to Cardassian and Bajoran orphanages. Garak didn’t exactly consider it a sign, but it did hold a certain amount of  _ significance _ . 

He contacted Captain Sisko’s office.

“Mr. Garak, good morning. How can I help you?” Garak couldn’t see below his shoulders on the screen, but he could picture the elbows on the desk and hands clasped together. 

“Captain Sisko, greetings. I regret to inform you that there has been an  _ incident _ that needs attending to. There is an orphanage in the Kindor municipality of Lonar Province that has requested my services.” This wasn’t strictly a lie. They often requested aid from anyone willing to help out; they just hadn’t sought him out specifically.

The captain frowned. “Why would a Bajoran resettlement center contact  _ you _ , a Cardassian?”

Garak didn’t miss the emissary’s use of the Bajoran politically-correct term for an orphanage, but that title only fell to establishments that held any hope of rehoming their charges. The Kindor organization merely set about providing shelter and food for its children until they were old enough to care for themselves. It was one of the few things that Garak truly disliked about the Bajoran people, how willing they were to give up on these unfortunate children. He pulled a tragic face. “Kindor is for  _ Carjoran  _ children, Captain. Tora Ziyal put me in contact with them.”

Sisko’s face abruptly softened, as he knew it would. “I see.” He sat up straighter in his seat. “What is it you need?”

“Nothing more than a runabout. You can even have an ensign drop me off and return with the shuttle, and I’ll find myself a way back.” 

“How long do you intend to be gone? We’re expecting more transmissions for you to decode in the next few days.”

“Oh, I suspect I’ll be there less than a week,” Garak equivocated, leaving out any promise of a return to the station.

The captain bent his head forward, staring out through serious eyes. “Just to be clear, Dr. Bashir is not accompanying you, correct?”

“No, he is remaining behind. As much as he would like to render his own services, he is aware of his responsibilities to the Federation, as always.”

Sisko nodded. “Alright. Permission granted.” He poked something into his console. “Shuttle Bay 1 will be available in an hour. Does that suit you?”

“Most assuredly. Thank you, Captain.”

Garak hurried to his shop, avoiding eye contact all along the way in hopes of discouraging conversation. He made it there unmolested and left the doors locked to prevent any further intrusions. There were a dozen bolts of fabric that he’d ordered years ago under the influence of the implant and later deemed mostly unpalatable. They’d sat around gathering dust, only a square or two being employed over the years for Jake Sisko’s wardrobe or one of Quark’s patchwork jackets. However, their bright colors and angular patterns could brighten up the collection at Kindor, which most likely consisted of castoffs from the general population. He had the rolls beamed down to the bay, along with several children’s outfits that had never been purchased. He considered asking Professor O’Brien whether she had any leftover materials from her school to donate, but decided there wasn’t time. He could always contact her later.

He walked briskly to the shuttle, steadfastly ignoring the infirmary as he passed by. He couldn’t allow his decision to waver.

He arrived ten minutes early, but the ensign was already waiting for him. The Andorian looked bored, but she helped him load his supplies and even complimented a few of the bolts. Under normal circumstances, he would have invited her to stop by his clothiers, but he really wasn’t certain how long he’d be gone. So they rode in relative silence down to Bajor and exchanged few words upon his exit.

The Kindor Home for Minors was a modest affair, blocky by Bajoran standards, and clean if unattractive. His donations were well-received and trundled off immediately, and he was invited to share an afternoon meal with the staff and children. He sat alone at a table off to the side, to not only observe the youngsters in action but ensure they were being treated well and taken care of. His attention centered on an individual that hadn’t quite reached his teen years who wound his way between tables to boldly approach.

“It’s Mr. Garak, isn’t it? Of course it is! May I introduce myself?”

Nonplussed, Garak inclined his head. 

“My name is Kulin. No last name, obviously. But Tora Ziyal told us a little about you, and I do appreciate making new friends whenever possible.” The youth took a seat and regarded him frankly. His face displayed the gray skin and muted ridges present in most Cardassian hybrids, but his hair was a bushy brown rather than slick black like Ziyal’s. He lacked the Bajoran nose wrinkles, but his ears still visibly demonstrated the heritage. His eyes were startling, one a rich blue-green and the other a chocolate brown. Garak found himself drawn in by the magnetism of the gaze. “What brings you to our humble abode, Mr. Garak?”

Charmed, intrigued, and grateful for a distraction from his true purpose for being there, he launched into a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kulin was a random, last-minute invention, but I’ve suddenly developed an attachment...  
> (I don't know anything about Bajoran pronunciation... Would it be Koo-lin or Cull-in? I like both)


	11. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak makes a new friend

Garak sat cross-legged on the floor of the common room, surrounded by children and unwound rolls of fabric. A 3 year old lay sprawled across one of the softer, thicker varieties, and he had the suspicion she’d fallen asleep. He planned on looking into her origins later in the day. The Occupation having ended a few years  _ before  _ her conception, he wondered what had transpired between a Bajoran and Cardassian since then that resulted in the youngling’s existence and subsequent abandonment. 

Other children were scattered around as well, some cutting out patterns, others practicing their hand at sewing or embroidery. Kulin wandered around, monitoring from a distance and lending a guiding hand whenever needed. Every once in a while, his eyes would meet Garak’s and they’d smile, sharing a laugh over something a child said. 

Garak had never had playmates growing up, had barely spent time with his classmates even in school. He was glad to see that although they lacked proper families and homes, at least the youngsters here had each other. They got along well, for the most part, and seemed content with their lives as they were. Children could be resilient and remarkably adaptable.

But still, the older ones held that fragile  _ awareness  _ behind their grins, the knowledge that although they were welcome here, they were not likely to be so accepted once they left the walls of their sanctuary. They hid it well, but Garak was studied in humanoid behavior and concealment, and youth of any race were hardly adept at disguising their true feelings.

The idyllic scene was interrupted when a  [ flutterby ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949294/chapters/60389224) danced into the room through an open window, and all projects were subsequently forgotten as the children leapt up to pursue it, the smaller ones squealing in delight. 

Watching the jubilant commotion, Garak couldn’t deny that he felt a certain serenity here. There was a simplicity to the joys and sorrows of those who hadn’t yet been introduced to the harsher realities of life. Caught up in games of chase or refereeing an argument over who touched a toy first was so much more welcome than the day-to-day burden of receiving climbing death tolls and deciphering transmissions to and from his people, who were slowly withering under the thumb of the Dominion. The choices of math over reading, or swimming over tree climbing, were so much lighter than dealing with his own personal dilemmas. And the staff of the orphanage were more than pleased to let him volunteer his time in addition to his textiles. They hosted few visitors, and never Cardassians, until now.

When the flutterby escaped back outdoors, the merry crowd followed, spilling out onto the lawn with delight. Garak trailed behind and settled on a bench in the shade, his current project clutched in hand but momentarily forgotten. The carefree ebullience of the children should have been uplifting, but they reminded him too much of Bashir. His eagerness to charge out into the wild frontier of space and look at everything with a fresh, unjaded appreciation. The purity of his spirit was one of the many traits that captivated Garak. He was drawn to that candor, that wide-eyed wonder, that  _ passion _ for life that so many humanoids lacked.

He was tremendously afraid of spoiling it.

Julian was all heart and laughter and zest. He positively radiated vitality. Whereas Garak was duplicitous and scheming and cynical. The idea of letting that candle shine into his shadows was immensely appealing. 

But what if--instead of Bashir pulling him up, he dragged the man down? What if his secrets were too dark, his transgressions too unforgivable? He couldn’t bear the thought erasing the smile from that face, of wearing it down year after year under a pile of deceptions.

Kulin reappeared, joining him on the bench. “You look really unhappy. Is something bothering you?” The keen boy frowned, far too serious for such a bright and pleasant day. 

Garak had developed an uncharacteristic fondness for the boy in the past several days, and now he allowed himself to relax in his company. He awkwardly attempted a gesture he’d seen other adults make, and reached out to ruffle his hair. Kulin ducked away. But he allowed the Cardassian to rest his arm on the bench behind his back. “Nothing that concerns you, my friend.” Not wanting to dampen the mood, he lied about his somber frame of mind. “I just realized that it’s going to take considerable effort to draw everyone back inside to clean up the mess we left behind.” 

The young man looked suspicious, but didn’t probe further. Garak wondered how and when someone his age became so clever. 

A commotion halfway down the field grabbed their attention. Someone had caught the hapless flutterby, and several others were trying to convince them to let it go. Kulin dashed off to intervene, mediating between the shrill voices and handling the insect with a precise and exaggerated care that Garak had often seen exhibited by his dear doctor.

At the reminder, his mind returned to his current plight. He missed Julian. But this was a necessary separation, he was sure of it. Time apart. Give the impetuous human some space to mull over his decisions. Give Garak the opportunity to distance himself from a nearly addictive affection so that he could clear his head.

How long should he remain here? How much would it take to convince himself that he could survive without the constant comfort and attention he’d grown accustomed to? To prove that he wanted to be with Julian because he  _ loved _ him and wasn’t just seduced by his tenderness or driven to end his extended period of isolation? 

On top of that, he wanted to confirm that he did have an identity beyond exiled tailor turned traitorous code breaker. To show that he didn’t  _ have _ to remain on the station, but  _ chose _ to. 

How does one prove that they’re worthy?

And how many more nights could he stand sleeping in a too large, too soft bed, alone?

Garak’s two halves were at war, one adamant that he should pull back from the rushing charge they’d taken, but the other desperately craving the companionship he’d already denied himself for so long. The past week had, unfortunately, done little to alleviate the struggle. He had yet to arrive at any definitive answers.

Kulin returned, beckoning for the crumpled garment retained in Garak’s grip. He sat back down, a little closer than before, and went to work straightening out the tangled stitches.

Garak observed with admiration, thankful for the intrusion on his thoughts. “You’re very adept with your fingers. Your hands are so steady you’d make a fine tailor. Or surgeon.”

The mismatched, penetrating eyes studied him closely. “Or a spy? I can pick a lock, too.”

Just how much had Ziyal told these children? Or how much had this wily imp conjectured? 

“Oh, you don’t want to be a spy,” Garak advised firmly. “It’s a dreadfully lonesome life, and full of unsavory choices.” His voice had come out more bitter than he’d intended, so he flitted a false smile to lighten it. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“While you were tailoring?” Kulin asked casually.

“Why, of course. Spies require all manners of disguises, and each must be altered perfectly to suit their purposes. You’d be surprised how much I’ve learned just hemming pants.”

The boy took a moment to digest that. “You spied on spies?”

Garak chuckled. “I never said that.”

“No, you didn’t.” Kulin set down the project in his hands. “I think you worked for them. And I think they trusted you.”

Garak was spared from crafting a response by one of the wardens stepping out and calling everyone inside to clean up before the evening meal. Kulin rose to help shepherd the children back in, but snuck several glances back to the bench.

As soon as the yard was empty, Garak excused himself to walk in the woods that bordered the property. The summer air was pleasingly temperate for a Cardassian, but the bright afternoon light had started to strain his eyes. The shadows covering the path were a welcome balm.

He was singularly unsurprised when a slender form stealthily joined him only half a kilometer in. They strolled in companionable silence for half an hour until arriving at a creek. There, Kulin shucked his sandals to wade in the rippling water and collect stones. Garak settled on a jutting, sun-drenched rock to bask, and put his arm over his face. He was soon comfortable enough to undo his austere collar and pull up his sleeves, stalwartly ignoring the line of healing tissue that was revealed.

Kulin interrupted his rest with over the next hour or so with several discoveries, from wriggling crustaceans to a mud-coated lita. His prize find was a crystallized fossil that he shared with the Cardassian gleefully, insisting that Garak keep it safe in his pocket. Eventually, he wandered upstream to climb a small waterfall, and disappeared behind a rise.

Garak watched Kulin’s agile figure disappear. He envied the boy his freedom. He could choose his education, his playmates, his leisure activities. He didn’t have parents, true, but that didn’t seem to be holding him back. In fact…

He held a great deal of potential. How successful could he be with the right support? Some tutelage, advice. A gentle nudge here or there. Nothing constricting, not like Garak’s life under the thumb of Enabran Tain. 

He rolled over onto his stomach, resting his head on his arms. The sun soaked through his layered tunic and into his scales. 

He wasn’t seriously considering playing a more permanent role in Kulin’s life, was he? 

As if summoned, the young man trundled his way back down the creek. The youth twirled a stick nimbly between his fingers in the same way that Garak had taught himself to do with a knife. When he caught himself being watched, the stick flicked from his fingers and disappeared into the rushing water. He smiled ruefully and strolled over to hoist up onto Garak’s stony platform. 

“Did you find anything, my young friend?”

Kulin shrugged. “Not much. Just some burrows and fallen trees and stuff.” 

The defensive set to his face reminded Garak of Bashir’s younger days, when the senior staff rebuffed his overly-enthusiastic attention. His heart strings twinged. “What types of burrows? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the wildlife in this region.”

As expected, the boy brightened up immediately and launched into a lengthy discourse about the local flora and fauna. It was like watching his lunch companion get excited over a new vaccine or expound over a favorite sonnet. He listened attentively, asking questions for clarification at regular intervals. 

After another hour, the conversation steered from Bajoran wildlife to local medicinal herbs and then to touch on holistic healing practices in the region. Kulin was astoundingly knowledgeable and philosophical, especially for someone his age. Garak wondered what Julian would think of him. If maybe they’d understand each other on some level. He couldn’t help imagining what would happen if they met.

The heat of the day began to dissipate as the sun ducked behind the tallest trees. The pair made their way back to the home at a leisurely pace, aware that it was far past dinner. The missed evening meal, however, was easily replaced with a collection of moba berries from a small patch they discovered just off the path. They arrived in the back gardens with sore fingers, stained lips, full bellies, and pockets full of rocks. 

When they parted, Kulin crushed Garak’s waist in a hug, and he gently encircled the boy back. The sunset in the distance seemed to reflect back on them, filling him with a gentle glow. It’d flitted around him all day, darting nearer and the fitfully away like the flutterfly, but this time the feeling settled in to stay. 

It had turned into a lovely afternoon, afterall, and the sense of calm permeating him made him reluctant to let go. Being with Kulin reminded him of the brimming, unfeigned affection of Ziyal. He watched the sweet young young man disappear around the corner and sighed before retiring to his guest room.

There was someone waiting inside.


	12. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian finds Garak, and they make some BIG decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of planned for hot stuff every 3 chapters, but then Kulin got his own chapter, so we’re gonna have to put off sexy times until 13. Get ready for a little bit of a roller coaster ride...

“Elim Garak, you are an infuriating and exasperating man.” Bashir stood in the center of the sleeping room, arms crossed.

“It’s good to see you too, my dear,” Garak returned. He mercilessly quelled the electrified spark that leapt through him upon discovering that his lover had determined he was worth chasing after.

“You left without even telling anyone!”

“I told Captain Sisko. He had to authorize my use of a runabout.”

Bashir uncrossed his arms and paced the room. “Yes, and he didn’t even inform me. Did you tell him not to?”

Garak’s heart twisted at the vulnerable set to his shoulders. “I did not. But he may have been operating under the notion that you were already aware of my plans.”

The human rolled his eyes. “I wonder whoever gave him  _ that _ idea.” Restlessly, Bashir sulked away and dropped onto the side of the bed. “I thought I scared you away.” He raised his eyes, steady but wary. “Did I?”

Garak crossed to the window and peered out, unseeing, over the dimming landscape. He held his hands behind his back to prevent clutching at the sill or yanking the drapes shut. “No. No, you didn’t scare me off,” he murmured.

“Then why did you leave so suddenly? Why didn’t you tell me? You can’t say there was an emergency, because there clearly wasn’t.” He surveyed the room. “You look like you moved in.”

The bed was rumpled, the clothing in the closet in disarray, and the vanity was covered in bottles and personal items. “Now Doctor, give me some credit. I would hardly be so untidy. Evidently, someone has been snooping in my room.” Garak was dismayed to realize that he hadn’t even noticed, but couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. He had a pretty solid notion who the culprit was.

“Will you… Will you be coming back?” Bashir’s shoulders were hunched as he rested his elbows on his knees. He stared dejectedly at the floor.

Garak’s resolution to remain dispassionate melted. Without even thinking, he glided over and sank down on one knee in front of the stooped figure. He took the slender brown hands in his. “Yes, Julian, I will be coming back.” The naked relief shining back at him broke another crack in his armor.

Eager to restore some modicum of normalcy, he cast a teasing remark. “I shudder to think what types of trouble you might get into without me around. Jadzia and Quark are a _ terrible _ influence on you.”

Rather than jump to their defences, Bashir just snorted softly. “Oh, and  _ you _ never put me in  _ any _ sort of danger. You never set me up between Bajor, the Federation, and the Kohn-Ma, or pitted me against Gul Dukat  _ three times, _ or forced me to shoot a friend in the neck to save my fellow officers.” He kindly left out almost blowing up a planet with him on it.

“And look what happened to you  _ apart _ from my company,” Garak returned. “Several attempted murders, multiple kidnappings,  _ two _ times that you were replaced by a changeling... shrunken, interrogated, tortured… shall I go on?”

Bashir laughed through his nose and pulled Garak up on the bed next to him. “Point taken. You know... if I helped you pack, we could get back tonight, and you wouldn’t need to worry about my well-being and safety  _ any _ longer.”

“You could just as well stay the night  _ here _ and remain under my watch.” He patted a uniformed leg fondly.

The doctor cocked his head, considering something. “Is that what you want?”

Garak realized it was. In a moment of absolute clarity, he knew  _ exactly _ what he wanted. What he needed. Delaying their return was only an infinitesimal portion of it. Garak desired control. It felt like up until now, every aspect of his life had been decided upon and orchestrated  _ for _ him, that he’d had little to no say in any of his circumstances. Even with Bashir, the initial attraction had been no more than overactive hormones driven by addiction. Their closeness had developed without any conscious intention, and their relatively recent advancement had rushed forward so  _ quickly _ that he felt rudderless, like a ship cast about at sea and helpless against the tides and winds of a hurricane. He craved  _ choice _ . 

Keiko’s knowing face flashed before him.

Garak spoke with absolute conviction. “Yes, my dear. I would like to spend one more night here before we leave.” 

Bashir’s face glowed in the soft light. “Okay.”

An immense weight lifted from his shoulders. Julian would always give him a choice, would always take his consideration into account. He would never force Garak into anything he didn’t want, wasn’t ready for, wasn’t comfortable with.

He pulled the human into him for a long-awaited kiss. Bashir eagerly returned it, wrapping his arms around Garak’s waist. The tailor ran his tongue over the soft, supple lips, feeling them part to grant him entry. His dear doctor smelled like the infirmary back on DS9 and the exhaust of a runabout, for some reason. But he tasted of Delavian chocolate and Tarkalean tea, a combination that was not only delectable but undeniably  _ Julian. _

They were interrupted by frantic pounding at the entry padd outside their door. High-pitched bleeps from the numbers keys were interspersed with Bajoran curses. “It seems my trespasser has returned.” Garak opened the door and found himself face to face with a flushed and panting Kulin. 

“You can’t leave! You’ve only been here a few days!”

“Not just a trespasser but an eavesdropper,” Bashir quipped from behind him. 

Kulin peered around Garak. “Is that your husband?” He looked suspicious.

“Not yet,” Bashir answered at the same time that Garak replied, “Not quite.”

“Oh, so you’re getting married. Well, that’s great! They’re a bit backward here, so they don’t think too highly of single parents.” He pushed his way in to stand before Bashir, who had risen from the bed to join them. “I’m Kulin. Twelve years old. I scored top marks in all of my academics, I won an award last year for outstanding citizenship, and Mr. Garak says I have the hands of a tailor or surgeon.”

“And I’m Doctor Julian Bashir. Delighted to meet you. That’s quite a lot to be proud of,” Bashir acknowledged, before rounding about to Garak. “Um, Elim, is there something...?” He left the sentence hanging.

“My young friend here appears to have formed something of an attachment.” Garak’s mouth grew dry. “I could honestly say the same for myself.” Kulin lit up, and Bashir’s face softened. “But I only came here to lend my aid to the children, not bring them home with me.” By the Seven Sands, he  _ cared _ about his new friend, but inserting him permanently into his life?

The postures of the two figures before him were nearly identical; they were both tense and anxious, like defendants awaiting a verdict. He focused on the younger man. “Kulin, Julian and I need to talk. Something like this is a  _ very  _ momentous, very substantial decision. It can’t be rushed into.” It was also one more case where he knew he needed to take control and not just let events drag him along. 

The boy froze, eyes darting back and forth between the two adults. His face began to crumple, like he was ready to cry. When no one spoke, he rushed to the door, poked blindly at the padd until it opened, and tore from the room.

Bashir and Garak gingerly settled back onto the bed. Silence filled the space for several minutes until the doctor spoke up, facing the closed door. “Elim, what do you want to do?”

“I… I don’t want to leave Kulin behind. There’s something about him that felt… right. From the moment we met. Like he was already a part of me.” Garak reached for the human on the other side of the bed but let his hand drop to the covers. “Maybe because he reminds me so much of you.”

Bashir shook his head. “And here I was, thinking he reminded me of  _ you. _ ” He scooted into the center of the bed. “Being a parent is an  _ enormous _ responsibility. Or at least that’s what Miles keeps telling me. They require constant care and attention, you lose all your privacy, nothing is just  _ yours _ anymore…” He gazed off into the distance. “And I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you how difficult it is to raise someone properly when you didn’t exactly have the most wholesome experience yourself.”

Once upon a time, Garak would have resented a comment like that. But with Tain out of the picture, he was free to be truthful with himself; Enabran had been a terrible father. But Julian didn’t know about Tolan, who had been so much more than a surrogate to him. Wise, patient, encouraging. Humorous. Supportive. Non-judgmental. A mentor and guide, a willing ear when no one else cared to listen. If he could be half the parent Tolan was, Kulin might stand a chance.

And it wasn’t as if he would have to make the journey alone… “As you pointed out, Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien would undoubtedly have  _ plenty _ to say on the matter. I imagine there’s endless streams of advice I could draw out of them. Captain Sisko as well. He’s done an excellent job of raising his son to be a competent and willful young man. I'm also reasonably certain that there’s nothing I could do to keep Lieutenant Dax from submitting her  _ own _ advice on parenting. Why, I bet even Quark and Rom would have something to add, although I would take that with a grain of salt.” He paused for a breath. “And I  _ do  _ so happen to know an  _ ingenious  _ young doctor who would offer all manner of medical counsel.”

That was met with a wry chuckle. “Well, let’s hope your charge would be more amenable to visiting the infirmary than you’ve ever been.” They smiled at each other until Bashir sobered up. “Then you’re sure? You--you want to adopt Kulin?” He covered his mouth with a hand, then removed it again. “You want to be a father?”

Garak had to admit that fatherhood had never particularly appealed to him. But the past few days hadn’t felt like a challenge, or a burden, or even a little bit awkward. The boy had proven himself as highly capable, self-sufficient, and astute, as well as an ample conversationalist. “Kulin’s practically grown already, my dear. He wouldn’t need more than a guide at most.” He pondered for an additional moment and added, “Although a chaperone would be advisable. Otherwise he’s bound to get into more trouble than the two of us combined.”

“Oh, I bet Captain Sisko would love that.” 

“Kulin Garak. It has a certain sort of  _ ring _ to it, doesn’t it? Dignified. Proud.” It was the strangest thing. It was as if he couldn’t picture his life from this point forward  _ without _ the young man in it. 

Or the dear gentleman across the bed from him. 

Their eyes met and held, communicating just as adroitly as if they were using words. The human laughed shakily. “Prophets, I don’t know if I’m ready to be a father.” 

Garak's heart leapt into his throat. He’d read the term before in human literature, but he’d always doubted the expression until the demonstration his own body gave at those words. There was no mistaking the intent behind the Bashir’s words, but he prodded anyway. “ _ You _ , my dear? Were you planning on adopting Kulin yourself?”

Bashir looked confused. “But I thought- I mean-” He grabbed his wrist and knitted his eyebrows. “Aren’t we….?” He shoved off from the bed. Garak watched as he loosened his sleeve and pulled it up, revealing the marks etched into the skin. “ _ Dammit, _ Elim. You can’t dance around this. You claimed me. You led me to believe that we’re  _ together _ , and that we’re going to  _ stay _ together. Which means that if  _ you’re _ going to be a father, so. am. I.” He paced to the far wall and back again, his hand raking through his hair. Facing the bed, he pointed angrily, magnificent in his passion. “Tell me straight: do you or don’t you want to be my husband?”

If his heart had skipped a beat before, it sputtered and stalled altogether now. Garak’s skin flashed cold, then hot. “Julian, are you proposing to me?”

Bashir’s eyes grew wide, and he looked like steam was about to start shooting out from his ears. But then he dropped to his knees on the floor and buried his face in the bedding. Whatever he replied was muffled by the blankets.

“Pardon?”

Two glittering hazel eyes lifted to his. “I  _ said _ , yes, I suppose that I am.” There was a faint squint. “Although I was somewhat under the impression that we were  _ already _ affianced after the other night.”

“People  _ have _ been known to make rash decisions in the heat of the moment, my dear. And our moment  _ was _ very… heated. Several of the moments, really. A verbal confirmation is preferable.”

Bashir raised up to prop his elbows on the end of the bed. “Did I say that you were exasperating earlier? I take it back; you’re  _ impossible.  _ Don’t you dare throw that  _ verbal confirmation _ rubbish at me. Just answer my question.”

Now Garak’s chest fluttered like a trapped moth inside a lamp. He could suddenly understand Bashir’s dash to the refresher when they’d first grown honest with each other. If his breaths grew any more shallow, he was going to get dizzy. “Julian--” his voice broke. He cursed himself for being a fool, a sentimental fool, an exiled, duplicitous, horribly in love...

The human rounded the bed to settle on the side nearest him. He cupped Garak’s hands in his and lifted them to his mouth. He kissed a knuckle, a fingertip. “It’s alright, love. You don’t have to say anything right this moment. I--” His eyes shone. “I’m sorry for pushing you. You were absolutely right when you accused me of being impatient all those times.” He smiled on one side and set Garak’s hands back down, but retained his grip. His thumb brushed soothingly back and forth. “I  _ do _ love you though. You’ve  _ got _ to know that.” 

Julian inhaled deeply, staring at the sheets in deep thought. “Okay. Alright. One thing at a time. What shall we do about Kulin? We could go home and think about it for a while. Try to figure out how a child would fit into our schedules. What to do about living arrangements and education, those sorts of things.” He glanced up. “We can take time with _ this _ , too.”

Garak was aware he’d remained silent for too long, but he was still reeling from the twists and turns his evening had taken. Stalling, he focused on their hands, turning his over to link their fingers. Bashir grinned delightedly. “You’re right, of course,” Garak agreed. “The wise decision would be to  _ defer _ our decision about Kulin.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming on.”

“Yes, dear.  _ But _ once we leave here, it will be too easy to forget about him. To become wrapped up in our daily responsibilities, you in the infirmary and me with my customers and decoding transmissions. And even if we  _ did _ decide to… to adopt Kulin, then there would be the inevitable paperwork and bureaucracy. He may not even be able to join us for a year or more. That’s a lifetime to someone his age. And frankly, to  _ me _ , that’s unacceptable.” 

Bashir cocked his head. “We could still visit him on and off. And make subspace calls. There are ways to keep in touch.”

Garak was vehement. “No, it wouldn’t be fair to him. He’s already lived for 12 years without parents. I think that’s more than enough. He leaves with us tomorrow.”

“Elim, there’s no way they’ll let him come with us without going through the proper channels. Are you suggesting we kidnap him?” Bashir asked incredulously.

“No, that would make us into criminals! That won’t do.  _ However _ , we could tell him the time and location of our departure over breakfast, and then leave the runabout unattended while we pack up my belongings…” He smiled mischievously at Bashir.

“I can’t believe…” The doctor shook his head and rubbed at his temples. He frowned. “Although… I suppose as a Cardassian-Bajoran he’d be eligible to petition the Federation for asylum…”

“And we could graciously host him in the interim.” 

“You want to bring Kulin back  _ tomorrow _ . And you call  _ me _ impatient.”

Garak wondered why that was. How could he be ready to bring the young boy into his life after so short a time, but not the man that had been his friend and confidant for several years already? How could he be so sure that he’d make an adequate companion to an impressionable youth but not a grown professional who could take care of himself?

The answer was glaringly, painfully simple.

He  _ was _ afraid.

Afraid of being happy. That it’d be ripped away from him in one way or another. Not that he’d hurt Julian, or that the human would do anything to harm him. But that the universe would conspire to tear it all away and leave him bereft, just as it had before. Everything else was just excuses.

And in another flash of insight deep down, he realized that he was trying to spare Kulin the same fate. He didn’t want the boy to be alone. He wanted to protect him from the harsh experiences that periodically marred the humanoid experience. The same way that he wanted to shield Bashir, and the way the doctor tried to safeguard him in return. It all began to form into a lovely tapestry of caring and trusting, rescuing and loving. 

The three of them were intelligent, creative,  _ driven… _ and irrevocably sentimental. They were an absolute match. Complimentary threads. If anyone could make this work, they could.

Throughout his contemplation, Bashir had started discussing the preparations for the next day. “...and he’ll have to pack up as many clothes as he can, but I don’t know if he has any luggage…”

“Julian.”

“Although I’m sure we could replicate him new ones, or you could sew some…”

“Julian.”

“I wonder if he has any toys that he’ll want to bring along, like Kukalaka.”

_ “Julian.” _

The distracted face turned to him.

“Yes.”

“Hmm? Yes, what?”

“Yes, I would be honored to be your husband.”

Bashir’s mouth dropped open in a little “oh.” His eyes lit up. “Are you  _ sure _ about this?” An emphatic nod. “Adopting  _ and _ getting engaged. You don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

Garak smiled. “My dear doctor. Have you ever known me to do anything the easy way?”


	13. Countdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three of them return to DS9, where new plans are set into motion (after bodies finish their motions)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now the sex.

Miles was pacing at the airlock when they returned.

He rounded about as soon as the gate rolled open. “ _ JULIAN! _ You can’t just go running off without permission to go chasin’ down your boyfriend when--” he broke off, mouth flapping open and closed like a fish as he took in the three of them.

Garak turned to raise a brow at his lover, who had apparently neglected to mention that his chase was an unsanctioned one. The human smiled sheepishly and ducked his head.

“Who’s  _ this _ ?” the Chief asked incredulously. “When did you- how did you-” he stammered. “You two have a  _ son _ ?”

“No! No, not quite. He, ah, stowed away with us.” Bashir grimaced almost believably.

“Julian, he’s  _ you _ . And  _ you. _ ” Miles pointed to Garak.

They gawked at each other incredulously, then at Kulin. The boy did seem to… have a blend of their features. Julian’s hair, Garak’s skin, a mix of their eyes. Lanky like the doctor, but solid in the shoulders like the tailor. A cocky, shit-eating grin that could be either of theirs. 

Well.

The youth strolled forward confidently and extended his hand in the Bajoran fashion. The Chief met it readily, but he kept glancing back at Garak and Bashir. “My name’s Kulin. I adopted Mr. Garak, then found out he was part of a matched set, so I adopted Dr. Bashir too. They’re a handful, but I think I’m up to the task.” He puffed up his chest.

Miles burst out laughing. “Oh, I like ‘im,” he said to the stunned adults, clapping Kulin on the back. “Miles O’Brien, Chief Engineer. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Welcome aboard Deep Space Nine.” 

“Mr. Chief O’Brien, could you take me to meet the captain? We’re going to need him to marry Julian and Elim soon, and to authorize our move into family quarters.” 

Miles’ eyebrows shot up.  _ Marry? _ he mouthed. “Uh, he’s a bit busy right now, but maybe I can arrange somethin’ for later.” He turned to Garak and Bashir, entreating them for help. 

But Kulin steamrolled on. “Alright. Well, I can take a tour of the station to learn where everything is while I’m waiting, and I’ll need to eat soon, too. Are you busy?”

Bashir tried unsuccessfully to pass his laughter for a cough. “It looks to me like Miles is dressed in his civilian clothes, so he must be off his shift right now. You two go on ahead and have fun.” The doctor dropped an arm around Garak and gave him a loud smack on the cheek. “Just wait. Jadzia’s going to  _ love _ Kulin. And I bet before the week is out, he’ll have both her and Worf teaching him Klingon weapons drills.”

Garak watched them go and rubbed at his wrist, all too aware of the scarring mark across it. His thoughts were still on what Kulin had told the Chief Engineer about speaking to Sisko. Were he and Bashir really going to be enjoined? And how soon? It was still hard to believe. But also amazing. And more than a little arousing. He leaned in eagerly and nuzzled the hot, soft neck that was so close. So  _ his.  _ “My dear, I do believe we’ve managed to find the one humanoid in the sector even more charming than you or myself.”

Bashir chuckled then groaned. “Just wait until he hits puberty. If he’s anything like  _ I _ was at that age…”

Garak nipped at his jaw. “And still are.”

“Look who’s talking,” the human rumbled back.

A loud, rather obnoxious throat was cleared behind them.

Or the semblance of a throat, anyway. Odo stood with his arms crossed, glaring disapprovingly. “If you wish to enact any public displays of affection on the promenade, you’ll have to apply for a permit. Otherwise, please move your performance along to somewhere more private, like one of your quarters.”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Odo,” Bashir laughed. “By the way, didn’t I hear something about you and Major Kira sharing your first kiss right about there?” He pointed toward the directory panel. “My nurses said it was quite the  _ show _ .” 

The changeling security officer narrowed his eyes. 

Garak smacked his arm. “Don’t worry, Constable, I’ll take him home and see to it he’s properly chastised.” He couldn’t help raising his brow ridges suggestively.

Odo rolled his eyes (and whole head) and ambled away.

Their felicitous mood carried them all the way to Bashir’s quarters, where they embraced hungrily and tumbled against the wall just inside the door, kisses sloppy and ardent.

After a few minutes of aggressive making out and mildly heavy petting, they pulled apart, short of breath. Bashir pulled Garak over to the sofa, where they collapsed together in the cushions and continued to touch surreptitiously while their heartbeats slowed. “It isn’t much, but I’m going to miss this place,” he commented nonchalantly.

“Oh? Are you going somewhere? We only just returned.”

Bashir rolled onto his side and placed his head in Garak’s lap. “Mmm. Not far. But while Kulin was regaling you in the runabout with his adventures in Lo-Pagh Canyon, I put in a request for family quarters with Major Kira. She okayed it right before we docked.”

“Is that so? You grow ever more devious by the day, my dear.” Garak had been aware the medical officer was up to  _ something _ , but he’d been blocked from a clear line of sight by the energetically gesturing young man between them. “How soon until the rooms are prepared?”

“Oh, I’d imagine they are already. In a place as busy as this, families are always moving in and out, so they keep a few residences available at all times.” He picked up Garak’s hand and plopped it in his hair, an unspoken command. The Cardassian obliged, lazily tangling his fingers in the locks. 

They lounged for a short while, Garak lost in thought over the trials of packing up all his belongings, and Bashir humming contentedly under his ministrations. When the human started to roll an ankle and fidget, Garak trailed his thumb down to stroke the shell of an ear. Bashir’s feet and hands immediately stilled, and he licked his lips. He had so many giveaways; the ex-spy could read him like an open datarod. Garak smiled to himself at his extraordinary fortune, and moved his hand around to that delicate, unadorned throat so he could caress it and move things along.

But Bashir leapt off the couch, startling him. The younger man stretched and rubbed at his back, yawning widely. “Ah. I’m  _ parched. _ Care for a drink?” He arched an eyebrow at his companion.

Willing to allow him this little game, Garak went along with it. “Some water would be most welcome.”

Bashir sauntered over to the replicator, where he called up two glasses. But he set them on the counter in the dining area instead of delivering the drinks. He leaned back on the ledge and crossed his legs. “You know, the only thing I think I’ll regret about getting a new place with Kulin is that you and I aren’t going to get a whole lot of time alone anymore. Oh well. Such is life. I suppose I should start packing.” He turned around to slide open a cupboard. “Where did I put those bottles of kanar…?”

Garak watched him with amusement. His dear doctor was about as subtle as a Ferengi in a stock exchange. He let him poke around in an exaggerated fashion for a minute before rising from the couch to stealthily stalk across the room. The moment Bashir lifted up on tiptoes to reach for something on a top shelf, Garak slid up behind him and captured both wrists. There was barely a twitch of surprise from his quarry. Instead, the lithesome body pushed back into him. Garak pressed his lips behind an ear. “If this is to be our last day alone, then perhaps we should…  _ take advantage _ of it? I’m sure there are better ways to spend our time than packing dishes.” He crossed Bashir’s arms in front of his body, trapping him in place. The doctor twisted to meet Garak in a heated kiss. Just as they sank into it, the human lifted one arm over his head and rotated to face him, hands still held fast, and laced their fingers together.

Garak growled under his breath and shoved him tighter against the countertop. Bashir ground against him, already growing hard as they mouthed and nipped at each other. Garak freed one hand to run over a hip before grabbing a handful of arse and pulling the human closer. Bashir lifted a leg to wrap around his, rubbing sensually at his calf with one foot while wiggling his hips into the Cardassian’s groin. 

Garak could feel tension building up inside his ajan, accompanied by the first hint of slick dripping out of him. He hadn’t taken the doctor standing up yet, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. As they kissed and lapped at each other, he brought his hand around to Bashir’s lower abdomen to begin massaging at the lengthening bulge. His companion bucked and moaned at the touch. Garak almost did the same as his own knuckles scraped over his swelling seam.

Bashir pressed his hands to Garak’s torso like he was going to push him off, but then ran them up to the neck ridges to knead and squeeze at them. Chills shot up the Garak’s spine, only to swirl into electric tingles under the rubbing hands and dive down the center of his chest toward his core. He wound both arms back around the man’s waist to hold him tighter. With the literal upper hand, Bashir spun them around to shove Garak into the countertop. There was a brief spark of alarm at being crushed, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the sensation of molten lips mouthing along his jaw ridge and a thumb working into the divot of his chula. 

Bashir was starting to make whiney, frustrated noises. Garak had absolutely no inclination to make him wait. He deftly worked the waist of the man’s trousers and briefs until they were midway down his thigh and his swollen cock bobbed free. Bashir gasped and shivered, but didn’t let it stop him from laving his tongue along the upper column of Garak’s throat. But his hands abandoned their pursuits to worm their way up under the modest tunic and tug down the Cardassian’s trousers as well. 

They surged together, and Bashir’s member poked insistently at Garak’s opening, one side of it receiving a liberal coating of the fluids that were escaping. “Oh gods, Elim, you feel so good. I want you right here.”

The admission set Garak aflame, and an aggressive wave of desire tightened his hold on the squirming body. He executed a swivel and nudge that swapped their places and flipped Bashir around until he was bent over the counter. There was a surprised “Oof!” followed by an “Oh!” as a manicured gray hand reached around to fondle his length. 

Garak’s other hand delved between them to trail a finger down the cleft and tickle at his entrance. “Oh yes!” Bashir cried out, dropping his head and knocking it on the overhanging cabinet. Spurred on by the encouragement, the tailor let himself evert and replaced his finger with his pr’Ut. His freed hand clasped a hip while the other continued stroking the leaking cock. He frotted against Bashir’s rear, smearing them both in a silky coating that enhanced the friction and slide of his thrusts. The human bucked his hips back needily. “Please, Elim,” he pleaded.

Garak wondered if his increase in verbal narration was a conscious or subconscious response to the fact that this may be their last chance to be vocal during sex. The tailor had never been one to speak out much during encounters, but maybe he could indulge his lover just this once. He pulled at one cheek to open up the access point and nudged his tip right up against the hole. “Is this what you want, my dear?” he purred.

“ _ Yes _ , Prophets yes.” 

Garak rewarded him with a solid, confident thrust all the way in, completely unhindered with the aid of his secretions. Bashir shouted out wordlessly and braced himself with one elbow on the countertop and the other arm against the door of the cupboard and his head resting on it. Above the disheveled brown hair, Garak could see the reflection of his face in the shiny black surface. His eyes were manic, his mouth open in a labored pant. 

He redirected his gaze to a much more appealing sight, the toned and heaving muscular back in front of him. He pulled back slowly, cool air seeping in around his phallus until he snapped back in to be engulfed in the tight, embracing depths. Bashir moaned and clamped down with his arse. Garak cried out at the nearly painful pressure as heat flared through his groin and legs. “Oh. Julian!” He withdrew and slammed back in, picking up the pace. The human’s hand grappled with his, trying to take over and speed up the jerking motions on his cock. 

Garak relented, eager to improve his hold with both hips now so that he could thrust them forward and back over his pr’Ut. A burning pressure began to build up.

_ <Jake Sisko to Dr. Bashir.> _

They froze.

The body in his grip shuddered. “Uh, yes? Jake? Doctor… Dr. Bashir here. What’s wrong?” 

_ <Do you mind if I take Kulin on the Vulcan Volcano Rollercoaster Ride? He’s never been to a holosuite before.> _

The younger boy’s voice sounded from the background.  _ <We had VR suits back at the Home, but we couldn’t afford to build a holosuite, or even to visit one!> _

A shaky breath rattled out before the reply. “Um- okay. Knock yourselves out.”

_ <Thanks! Nog hates rollercoasters. And Vulcan. And volcanoes. This is gonna be great!> _

Garak dropped his head and buried his face in Bashir’s spine. He could feel as well as hear the chuckle beneath him.

“It looks like… Kulin is making friends already,” the human noted between gasps. “I wonder what he’ll-- what he’ll think of the ride.”

Garak licked a stripe over the bumps of Bashir’s spinal column. “Right now, I’m much more interested in my own.”

“Garak!” Bashir laughed. “I mean, Elim. I never thought I’d hear you say something like that.”

The tailor snuck his hand back down to tease at the head of the straining cock. He twirled around the crown. “I’m not always so serious, am I?” He dipped his index finger into the indentation at the top and wiggled it around.

“Ah! Aha!” Bashir’s knees knocked together. “No, it’s just… Oh! You seem to prefer being dignified most of the time.”

Garak wasn’t sure what to think of that. He pulled his pr’Ut out and inched his way back in. “And what do you prefer?”

“Mmph. Ah, whatever you’ll give me, love.” He crushed Garak inside him with another clench.

Lances of fire ran through his groin. He kissed the back a few times before speaking. “Anything you desire my dear. I am just as much yours as you are mine, and nothing delights me more than making you happy.”

“Elim? Right now, I’d be the happiest man in the quadrant if we could finish what we started.”

Garak pulled those hot and shapely hips sharply into him, burying himself deep. “I don’t think I’ll  _ ever _ be finished with you, my dear doctor.” But he resumed his pumping and playing with the cock in his hand.

Bashir didn’t reply; he’d pressed his hands to the back wall and locked his elbows so that he could effectively thrust backwards as Garak plunged into him. It wasn’t long until his whimpers came faster and raised to a higher pitch.

Garak nibbled at his skin, wishing for a ridge to bite into. As the doctor flexed, his shoulder blade stood out. He sank his teeth in, riding the raising edge of his pleasure. When Bashir started to tremble under him, he snaked his hand down the base of the penis to slide down the center line of his furry sack, which he grabbed hold of and began to rhythmically tug. The difference was immediate, and the human froze and screamed out, all of his muscles contracting at once.

The sight of his Julian coming undone, combined with the unholy compression of his pr’Ut, brought Garak over the edge as well, and he thrust in one final, rough time, crying out as streams of cum were forced from his body. He bowed over Bashir, hugging him as tightly as possible until his arms released of their own accord.

They melted to the floor together, awkwardly settling down with their pants still tight around their thighs. They leaned against the lower cabinets and pulled everything back into place. Garak winced at the touch of cold, damp fabric over his crotch, but he was distracted by the head that flopped onto his shoulder and the hand that slid into his again.

Bashir inhaled deeply. “I can’t believe we’re really doing this. We’re moving in together, and adopting a child. Well, a young man.” He pressed a fierce kiss to Garak’s cheek before resting his forehead to a scaled temple. “I don’t-- Elim, I--” He swallowed. “You don’t know how happy this really does make me. All I’ve ever wanted was to love and be loved. To be part of something strong and steady. My work, my accomplishments, they’re all for the good of the quadrant. But this is for me.” He squeezed. “We’re going to make this work; I know it.”

“I admire your conviction, my dear Julian. I remain cautious in my optimism, but I  _ am _ optimistic nonetheless.” His chosen mate and son were amazing, extraordinary people, and they believed in him. They would be there for him, encourage and comfort him, bring out his best. Together, they could shape their own future, regardless of the galaxy falling to pieces around them. “Although we have quite a bit of work ahead of us. If I may offer a suggestion.”

“I’m all ears.”

“What a ridiculous expression.” Garak’s chest thumped nervously. “In the interest of…  _ expediency _ … perhaps we should take care of everything all at once.”

The head next to his hummed thoughtfully. “And what do you mean by  _ everything?” _

“Well, the petition to the Federation for Kulin’s asylum, and us to be his legal guardians, for a start. And moving into shared quarters. I simply thought that we might as well add an enjoinment ceremony to the load as well.” There, he’d said it. “These are uncertain times, and with no foresight as to what the future brings, we should resolve the matter while we have the chance.”

Bashir straightened up. “You  _ simply  _ thought…Resolve the...” He huffed in amusement. “Elim, I don’t know if you’ve realized this or not, but there has  _ never _ been anything plain and simple about you. Not your past, nor your clothes, your literature preferences, not your talents or philosophies, and  _ certainly _ not this plan of yours. But.” He rounded about to face Garak. “I wouldn’t have you any other way. Let’s do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next 2 weeks are going to be... ugh.  
> I can't promise I'll be able to update often, but I CAN confidently say that there's still plenty more coming. Please be patient.


	14. Liftoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kulin spends time with Julian and Elim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This still remains a therapeutic piece, so because I’m craving the normalcy and support of positive family interactions (of which I have minimal actual experience but like to imagine), this chapter is all about Julian, Elim, and Kulin strengthening their bonds. I had a lot of fun throwing in all the little scenes that make it up.

“Odo, you have to admit, if it wasn’t for Kulin, you wouldn’t know about the Tribble nest that the exterminators missed.” Bashir stood protectively next to the seated boy, his hand on one shoulder. Kulin wisely held his silence, but tried an apologetic smile that looked more like a grimace.

“ _Be that as it may,_ he also tripped _four_ security sensors that sent our station into lockdown mode, and started a fire in the Jefferies tube behind Garak’s Clothiers.”

The tailor stepped in. “As the proprietor of said establishment, I already stated that I do not intend to press charges.” He cast a stern glance at Kulin. “Although I will be sure to implement appropriate consequences.”

From his seat, Odo’s glare hardly let up. “My concern is that if he continues in this vein, you’re going to receive some reluctance on the part of the Federation in allowing him to remain here, much less become an official member.” He spoke directly to the squirming and now wide-eyed boy across from him. “Kulin, I understand that your guardians feel obligated to encourage your… natural curiosity and creativity, but there must be _limits_ to your exploration. I don’t care what Dr. Bashir and Mr. Garak say,” he eyed each of them in turn, “you _cannot_ be permitted to wander freely any longer. If you don’t cease your interference in the running of Deep Space Nine, I will not be able to help you, and neither will they.” He stood up. “Gentleman, Kulin is under probation for the next month. He is to stay in your custody--or that of anyone over the age of 21-- at all times.” 

Garak was certain the constable had made sure his edict removed Jake Sisko from the pool of possible custodians. He nodded curtly to Odo. “We understand. But have you discussed this with the Captain yet? Keeping watch over a child could potentially hamper our aid in code breaking and healing.”

“You should have thought of that before running off with one in the first place,” the security officer growled. “And yes, I did. He believes that _you_ , personally, would enjoy passing on your illicit skills to a younger generation, and that the doctor could use some assistance in the infirmary. Seeing as there is no school currently about DS9, this should provide an ample opportunity to further Kulin’s education. Do you have any other concerns?” He canted his head as if it were an inquiry, but the look on his face said that there better not be anything else.

“No, that’ll be all, Constable. We’ll make our egress.”

They headed out of Security and onto the promenade, where they paused to take stock of the situation. “I trust that you’re now aware of the severity of your actions?” Garak asked. Kulin nodded somberly. “I also trust that if you should ever be compelled to wander again, next time you won’t get caught?”

“E-lim!” Bashir exclaimed. Kulin’s head swung back and forth between the two. 

“My dear doctor. I think you’ll agree that it’s important to be honest with our young friend. We all know he’s only going to test his limits even further the older he gets. It’s best to lay down a few ground rules while we can.” He raised his eyebrows, daring the other man to refute him.

The human looked up, as if appealing to the prophets, or maybe mentally apologizing to the Emissary. “I suppose if I were in his place, I would do the same.” He met Kulin’s eyes earnestly. “I _did_ do the same, at his age.”

Garak beamed. “See? What is it you humans say? Honesty is the best policy.” 

The look leveled at him filled him with glee and just a little heat. “You and I are going to have a little talk later.” Julian stole a glance at the nearest chrono. “Shit. I’m late for my shift. Kulin.” He put his hand back on the slender shoulder. “Where do you want to start the morning off- with me in the infirmary or Elim in his shop?”

The boy looked over at Garak hopefully. “I’ll go to the shop.” The tailor knew exactly what he was thinking: that based on their conversation, this guardian would give him free reign. And in that assumption, he was mistaken.

As soon as Julian was off and they were behind closed doors, Garak stopped smiling. “You did a great deal of damage to my wiring and circuits, Kulin.” 

The young man rounded about, suddenly less sure of himself.

“It’s going to take some time to repair the damages, and Chief O’Brien is a very busy man. My sales are _not_ one of his top priorities. Which means that both my storeroom and workroom are in the dark, and the security system on my inventory is no longer functioning. Do you know what that means?”

The teal and brown eyes blinked several times. “That you can’t work on anything, and someone could steal your stuff?”

“ _Precisely_.” Garak pulled some emergency lights from a drawer and led the way to the back. “Which means that this morning is going to be spent moving piles of textiles, patterns, and commissions from the shop and into our quarters. And guess where they’re all going?”

Kulin gulped. “My room?”

The tailor decided to cut him a little slack. A little. “So kind of you to offer. But no. The living room will suffice. Which means that you will not be having any friends over until this is resolved. We simply won’t have the space.”

“You mean once this is all back, I _can_ have friends over?” His face lit up.

“Yes, of course. From what I’ve observed on this station, all the young people spend their time in the holosuites and flitting about between one quarters and the next.” Garak was gratified by the thankful look on Kulin’s face, but he hoped he wouldn’t grow to regret his choice. The last thing he wanted was for his home to become a playground. His thoracic ridges were crushed in a tight hug. Still unused to these ebullient shows of affection, he held his arms up, then slowly lowered them into place. It _did_ feel nice, once he found a comfortable position.

With the portable lanterns arranged in the back spaces, they both gathered up a roll under each arm and set off for the habitat ring. The tailor knew that if he asked politely enough, he probably could have found someone to beam everything directly to their new location, but he figured the tedious and strenuous treks back and forth across the station might be good for his delinquent companion. Physical labor had certainly done him a bit of good in _his_ youth.

To his chagrin, Garak found himself sharing a tale about the time Tolan had found him trying to chisel a hole through the border wall around Tain’s property so that he could spy on the neighbors. “Not only did I have to spend the next week repairing the hole, he also made me plant a bssk berry bush in front of it so that no one would have to see the eyesore.” 

He eyed Kulin, who was valiantly trying to juggle a bolt of Viltain wool and 2 jars of buttons and clasps. “Do you know what bssk berries are?” The youth shook his head. “They’re large, pink, and very shiny. They’re insides are smooth and sparkly. To a child, they look exactly like candy. So naturally, I tried one.” He remembered the distinctly fruity yet minty combination that had coated his mouth. “Tolan hadn’t told me that they aren’t compatible with my people’s digestive systems. Only a scant few mammals on Cardassia can handle them. When bssk berries come in contact with the acids in a Cardassian stomach, they release a thick gas.” 

They stopped in front of their quarters but didn’t go inside. Kulin was staring at him in morbid fascination. “I spent the next 48 hours with a horrible stomach ache and belching clouds of glitter nearly nonstop. I locked myself in my bedroom and didn’t come out.” And imagine his surprise when it reached the _other_ end of his digestive system. But he studiously refrained from mentioning that part of the episode.

His charge didn’t get the message he was trying to send. Instead of giggling, he appeared to be thinking furiously. “What do you think they would do to a _half_ Cardassian?”

“Kulin, you are _not_ trying any bssk berries.” He tried to sound firm, but it came out exasperated. In fact, he sounded more than a little like Tolan. He gained a whole new appreciation for what that man had gone through in raising him.

They finally went inside and set down their loads. Kulin paced around restlessly, picking things up and putting them back down. He was clearly getting bored. “Why don’t you go visit Julian in the infirmary now? I can make the last few trips alone. I’m sure he’d appreciate your company for a little while. You can even take lunch together.”

They parted with another hug (which seemed to be growing more and more common) and he returned to his shop alone. Rather than pick up where he left off, however, Garak sat down at his console and hacked into the infirmary’s camera system. It was mostly out of curiosity, but he found himself drawn in to watch the silent figures flit around his screen.

At first, all Kulin did was follow Julian around everywhere, apparently asking endless questions. He literally got caught underfoot several times, and elbowed in the face once when he leaned over to see what the doctor was examining in a large specimen dish. It was entertaining to watch his erratic and hyperactive lover get a taste of what his friends initially experienced when he first arrived as CMO. 

After a few more awkward exchanges, they grew gradually more comfortable with each other, and once the few patients they had disappeared, Julian put Kulin to work categorizing and analyzing specimens in the lab. Here, they established a rhythm that became a nearly choreographed dance between them. Pulling out racks from the incubators, setting up slides, studying them under the microscopes, and recording the results, they passed back and forth gracefully and efficiently. He watched with pride as the younger man mastered task after task, continually surprising his older companion.

He envied the way Julian so casually touched Kulin while they worked. A pat on the back here, a bump on the hip there. The youth even let him muss his hair a few times (before patting it fussily back into place). Not only did he wish his lover did that more often with _him_ , but that it came as easily to himself to express affection in that manner. He longed to head over and join them, to become a member of their private ballet. If only he had the excuse.

Bashir must have told Kulin to search for something, because the boy started looking all around the lab, high and low. He started poking at things, and moving them around. The doctor watched him, chuckling to himself, then walked across the room and waved the boy over. To Garak’s consternation, Julian’s face suddenly filled the whole screen until a pair of lips pressed to the lens. The human stepped back, half hidden by the smudge over the camera’s lens, but the smirk was evident. Kulin waved enthusiastically. 

After miming putting food in his mouth and a salute, the two disappeared, presumably to take their afternoon meal.

Garak sat back, stunned. He hadn’t realized the doctor knew about his surveillance. 

And for a blissful moment there, he felt like he _had_ been there with them. Part of the fun, the joy, the… family.

Family.

That fluttery tickle of comfort carried him through the next hour of finishing his tasks, which was approximately when Kulin returned. Julian sent him out after a particularly bad accident that severed the antennae from an Andorian engineer. Garak hoped it wasn’t the one who had shuttled him to Bajor.

The remainder of the afternoon was more subdued, and they spent most of the time switching out clothing for the next change of season. He explained to Kulin that although Deep Space Nine might not be a planet, its denizens tended to follow the trends set by Bajor, and to some extent, Earth. As expected, the boy who’d spent his life up until now on the nearby planet had plenty to say on the subject.

Their discussion was interrupted by a video call. Bashir was on screen, looking far less careworn than Garak would have expected. In the background, several voices could be heard chattering back and forth and laughing. “Hullo, Elim! Kulin! Jadzia, Keiko, and Nerys stopped by. They wanted to talk wedding planning. Oh, I mean, about planning the _enjoinment ceremony_.” He knew that Garak preferred that term, seeing as he felt the Cardassian equivalent was much more dignified. 

The women behind him burst inter laughter over something, the major holding her stomach and bending over. He wondered what they found so funny, and hoped it wasn’t him. 

“They have some absolutely _smashing_ ideas for the ceremony and the reception afterward,” Julian continued. “I hope you know that I’m going to be spending a fortune on this. I finally have a reason to use some of my latinum. Do you mind if I invite some of my friends from the Enterprise?”

Garak blinked, trying to take everything in. How elaborate was this going to be? He’d pictured a small and private affair. “Ah, Julian dear? Perhaps this is something we could discuss in person?” His stomach twisted a little. “We may have different ideas as to what our enjoinment will look like.”

“Oh! Of course, love. Let’s set aside a whole day for it. We can talk tonight and compare our schedules.” He beamed through the monitor, practically glowing.

Dax shoved her way into view. “Hey Garak! I tried talking Worf into giving you an honor guard of Klingons, because, _you know_ , they’re _Klingons_ and all about honor, but he said that isn’t how it works.” Kira snorted behind her. “But I hope you know everyone is super excited about you two getting hitched. Especially since _our_ wedding had to go by the books.” She rolled her eyes. “For yours, we’re gonna do the whole shebang.” She blew him a kiss and fluttered her fingers goodbye.

Keiko’s face appeared. “Don’t worry, Garak. Nerys and I will keep her under control. Nothing _too_ wild.” She gave the Trill her best stern glare. Unphased, Jadzia stuck out her tongue.

Bashir worked his way back in. “I’ll be off in a little bit. See you two at home!” The screen blinked dark.

“Can I help too?” Kulin’s eyes were wide, brows raised hopefully. “I’ve never even seen a marriage, much less been involved in one. Who’s invited? Will there be decorations? Food? Will it be big?” He studied Garak’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, my dear,” Garak lied. He unclenched his hands, feeling sharp pains where he’d dug his nails into his palms. “I just hadn’t anticipated how much of a spectacle this was likely to turn into.” He suddenly needed some space. His thoughts were awhirl, and he felt like he couldn’t draw in a whole breath. “Honestly, Kulin, _I_ haven’t attended many ceremonies either. I’m sure Julian could answer your questions much more capably than I. If you hurry back to the infirmary, the two of you could have a delightful discussion while I close here.” The boy’s eyes lit up. “Go on, go ahead. I’ll see you soon.” He waved in the direction of the door, and Kulin practically skipped out. 

Garak grasped at the end of the worktable and concentrated on the feel of the rough surface under his fingers. He couldn’t let this get out of hand. He’d have to set boundaries, limits, be clear with his expectations. 

No matter how much he might want to cave in to those sincere, endearing, and almost fatally charming eyes. 

As he pictured his mate’s pleading, hopeful expression, he softened up. Julian would listen to him. He’d want Garak to be happy, too. He wouldn’t let the infamous Dax turn their intimate day into a carnival. 

Although the idea of his enjoinment being the cause of a station-wide holiday held a certain sort of appeal. It was flattering. If slightly overwhelming.

He knew just what to do to help alleviate his anxiety: after Kulin went to bed, he and Bashir could start going through the bolts of fabric. This would have a two-fold benefit; sorting his textiles always had a calming effect, and it would serve the purpose of gaining some semblance of control in regards to the ceremony. Maybe they could even pick out the materials for their tunics. Or whatever it was they’d be wearing.

When Garak arrived back at their quarters, it wasn’t to a flurry of exclamations, decorations, and halfcocked plans for the wedding, as he’d dreaded. Instead, he entered to soothing music wafting from the speakers, and a large, spider-like being stretched across the entire sofa. It resolved itself into Julian and Kulin, lying head to head, each with their legs draped over a cushioned arm of the couch. Their eyes were closed and faces slack, and they looked so at peace that he let them be while he tidied up around the living space.

As he passed near the couch, a slender, tawny arm reached out and slipped a hand into his. A gentle tug brought him down to the floor as Bashir turned onto his side. “Kulin said that you looked a little panicked after the call earlier,” the human whispered. 

Garak tried to look affronted. “Cardassians _do not_ panic.”

“Of course not,” Bashir answered wryly. “But maybe you were _concerned?_ ”

His first instinct was to obfuscate. “What could I possibly be concerned about?”

The human pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Elim, _everyone_ who gets married gets stressed about it at one point or another. Or so I’m told. I can only imagine how someone like you would feel would feel about Jadzia stepping in.”

Garak wasn’t sure how he should take that. “Someone like me?”

Bashir rolled his eyes and smiled fondly. “Methodical. Restrained.” He kissed him gently on one cheek. “Mostly solitary, until recently.” On the other cheek. “Reluctant to have any fun, because it isn’t dignified.” On the chufa. “Occasionally broody.” Garak huffed indignantly. Bashir lowered his face until their foreheads touched, mouth quirked impishly. “Probably repressed.” He brushed their noses together, and inhaled deeply. Their lips brushed once, twice, so softly. “Where was I going with this?” he asked quietly.

“How about off to your bedroom?” Kulin suggested cheekily as he rose from the other side of the cushions. “I’m starving. If you two are going to be like that, can I have dinner at Jake’s?”

They pulled apart. Garak looked at him sternly. “Were you invited?”

“Well, not really, but Mr. Sisko--”

“ _Captain_ Sisko,” Bashir interrupted.

“He’s not _my_ captain. But he said that I’m welcome to join them for a meal anytime. And I haven’t met Kasidy yet, but Jake said she would be in today…”

Garak frowned. “ _Captain_ Sisko is the commander of this station, and it is through his grace that the Federation is letting you remain here. You will give him the respect he is accorded, young man.”

Kulin and Julian stared at him.

Abashed, Garak stood up and puttered over to the dining area so that he could start setting the table and hide his embarrassment. He’d sounded like Miles O’Brien. Of all the preposterous things.

Bashir showed up at his side. “It sounds like you’re getting the hang of this parenting thing,” he chuckled. “You even sounded like Ben, there. Or maybe his father, Joseph.” 

That was mildly more tolerable, in Garak’s mind. He retreated to the table to arrange the dishes, utensils, and napkins.

Kulin joined Bashir at the replicator, chirping on about his day and suggestions for the evening meal. Some of their exchange sounded off, and Garak frowned, wondering if there was something wrong with his Universal Translator. “What was that you were saying?” he asked nervously.

“Julian’s teaching me Federation Standard!” Kulin then proceeded to rattle off a complicated set of syllables and glow with pride.

Garak looked to the doctor for a translation.

“He said ‘guacamole ravioli.’ It’s what we’re having for dinner.” Julian brought over a dish heaping with what looked like small, crumb-covered pillows. “It sounds funny in Standard; it sort of rhymes.” 

Relieved that his technology was working fine, Garak accepted the food as he sat down. The scalloped little squares didn’t look edible to Garak, but they smelled uniquely appetizing. He tried one, surprised at how subtle yet complex the flavor was. He quickly discovered, however, that they were not compatible with yamok sauce, and settled on pouring himself a small bowl of plum sauce to dip them in instead. Kulin took a liking to it right away, and shared the dish with him.

Per usual, the doctor gobbled his entrée down before the other two had barely begun.

“Really, my dear, must you eat like a Klingon? It’s not gagh, and it’s not going to wriggle off your plate. Haven’t you any patience?”

“Yes, but I left them all in the infirmary!” Bashir laughed.

Kulin and Elim stared blankly.

The human sighed. “In English, patience and patients sound the same.” He shook his head ruefully. “Miles would get it.”

“Well, we are _not_ having him over for dinner.” The longstanding pact between the tailor and Chief Engineer was actually that Garak would never join the _O’Briens_ for dinner, but he chose to believe that this was still in the spirit of their agreement. At least, for as long as possible. He had no illusions that Julian wouldn’t talk him into it eventually.

The rest of the meal passed amicably as the three of them shared expressions from their native languages, from aphorisms to adages, mottos to metaphors. By the time dinner was over, somehow they’d worked their way into fables, and the night wound down with Kulin and Garak mutually horrified over Bashir’s antique collection of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. 

When bedtime rolled around, the boy claimed he was much too traumatized for sleep, repeatedly popping out of his doorway to inform the adults that rest was not forthcoming. But the length of time between interruptions grew further apart, and he soon drifted off to the sounds of Garak and Bashir’s murmuring voices as they discussed the merits of various fabrics as formal wear. 

If only it was easy to explain why crushed velvet could not _ever_ be paired with Andorian suede. It tickled the tailor to no end that his dear augmented human still had at least one gaping flaw in terms of fashion. In vain, he maintained over and over that no matter how pleasing their texture to the touch, one must consider the _visual_ texture as well when used in conjunction. 

As could be expected, running hands over materials on bolts led to caressing over tunics and leggings on lovers, and one thing led to another and so on to the bedroom. Regardless of their quality or texture, shirts were discarded, trousers dropped, and underthings flung away. They tumbled recklessly into the bed, tangled up in the multitude of covers, and rolled about like necking teenagers.

Garak paused to steal a breath and gather an eyeful of golden limbs and sloping planes. “As handsome as you can be in anything from the finest Tholian silk to that dreadful jumpsuit you arrived at Deep Space Nine in, I do believe I prefer you in nothing at all,” he praised his devastatingly handsome younger lover. 

Simultaneously bashful and flirty, Bashir struck a pose on his side, chest puffed up and head flung back. And fell off the bed.

Garak dropped over the side to haul his bruised doctor up off the floor and into his arms. Perfection was overrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the last part didn’t seem too contrived. I HAD to add it after a meeting in SCSC when Sid made a comment about an actual mishap during filming.  
> Soooooo… here’s the thing. I planned on ending with chapter 17. But I also came up with this horribly evil idea (the good kind of evil) for a continuation. So there might be a chapter 18. I mean, the story SHOULD be done with, but I really, really got excited over this silly little thought that popped into my head. And then it grew into a monstrous thought that wouldn’t leave me alone.  
> What’s a little more drama and fluff among friends, right?  
> But for the next chapter... who’s ready for a wedding?


	15. Into the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian and Garak take another big leap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I’m trying it. I’m writing a wedding scene. Yikes.  
> (inside: eeeeeeeeeeee)  
> I believe this is now the longest chapter.

Garak opened his eyes to a thicket of brown hair. Smooth skin so hot it felt feverish to his reptilian blood was pressed against his lips. He mouthed softly against it for a minute, indulging in languid kisses over his lover’s brow. Sandalwood and sweat wafted from Bashir’s scalp and flesh, tickling his nose. What a most magnificent way to start a morning.

A change in breathing was followed by an intake of breath and raised head. Drowsy but honey-rich hazel eyes blinked slowly at him.

“Good morning, my dear,” Garak bid him. 

“Morning, love,” Bashir yawned back. He stretched one arm up and back, revealing his toned chest, shapely shoulders, and a long neck that was just begging to be nibbled on.

The tailor eyed them hungrily but restrained himself. “I should chide you for such a blatant display so early in the day, but you look much too delectable for me to mean it. If we weren’t pressed for time, I’d suggest locking the door and setting it to ‘do not disturb’ for the next several hours.”

The human smiled sedately, one side of his mouth lifting up. But his slack, serene expression swiftly transformed into wide-eyed apprehension. “Oh my god, we’re getting married today.” He shot up in the bed and peered back down at his companion, who was tugging the blankets back around his shoulders against the influx of cooler air. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“It’s hardly 0600 hours, Julian. We have time.” Did they, though? Garak’s insides started to twitch and flutter, but he tried to project a calm mien. Panic would get them nowhere. And he  _ had _ spent the past few days preparing every last little detail just to ensure that this day went off smoothly. To reassure himself as well as his intended, he went over it out loud. “Our suits are pressed and ready, our shoes are polished, and our personal care products are all lined up in the refresher. Keiko assured us the ceremony venue and decorations were prepared yesterday, you said that Mr. Fontaine has programmed the reception to our specifications, and Quark knows that for every delay or mistake in the catering, I will deduct 3% from his fee.” Bashir nodded thoughtfully. “All that is left to worry about for now is our breakfast and personal preparations. And I don’t recommend dressing ourselves until  _ after  _ the meal.”

He watched as his partner unfolded himself to pad over to the closet, where he pulled out a long sage-colored jacket to hold up and appraise. “Definitely. I wouldn’t want to get  _ anything _ on this. The work is astounding, Elim. I can’t believe how fantastic we’re going to look.” He glanced at the accompanying garments. “And Kulin, too. He adores that shade of blue.”

The door chime warbled. They looked at each other in puzzlement, then jointly threw on their robes and headed into the living area to greet their visitor.

It was Quark, of all people. “Good morning, Doctor, Garak. I thought you’d like to know that I procured a date for your wedding today.”

Flummoxed, they waited.

Quark waggled his fingers, gesturing to a figure out of sight. A demure, gray hand descended into his, and he drew a willowy woman into view. Her dress was long, soft, and pale pink, with a scandalously low neckline. Her hair was bound but not intricately styled, and she wore very little makeup, but managed to glow nonetheless. She was a far cry from what Garak’s people would consider socially or fashionably acceptable. But she was still undeniably  _ Cardassian. _

“Ms. Natima Lang.” The tailor sketched a half bow. “A pleasure to see you again. I see that you have managed to stay afloat in these uncertain times.”

“Yes, well, we do what we can. We’re mostly in hiding these days, but Quark promised to make a large donation to our cause if I accompanied him to your enjoinment.” She smiled gently at him, and then more fondly at the frowning Ferengi next to her.

“I told you not to mention that,” he muttered.

But she just beamed brighter. “He has a much bigger heart than he lets on,” she informed Garak and Bashir. “It may be covered in gold, but unlike latinum, the inside is warm and generous.”

Quark was outright scowling now. “Look, you’ve got your Cardassian witness now, alright?” he grumbled to the men. “So you owe me one.”

Nonplussed but quelling his reaction, Garak slapped a hand on the Ferengi’s shoulder hard enough to be unnerving. “So I do, Quark. And I assure you I won’t forget it.” He awarded the shorter man his most crocodilian grin. “But it will  _ not _ be added to today’s bill.”

Quark gulped. “Of course, of course. We’ll be going now.” He nodded to Bashir. “See you later.”

As soon as the door closed, Bashir threw his arms around Garak, crushing him in a tight hug. “Can you believe it?  _ Quark _ of all people came through for you. You’ll have a full-blooded Cardassian of an acceptable age to witness our joining. It’ll be official!”

Garak numbly embraced him back, blinking rapidly. Official. Regardless of her status as a dissident or his as an exile, with Natima’s endorsement, his marriage to Julian would be recognized by the Union and recorded in the Central Archives. Law was still law. He couldn’t believe it.

After that minor miracle, the rest of the morning passed by in a fantastical haze, a series of scenes full of preparations, endearments, coy glances, and gratuitous hand-holding. It felt like no time at all before the three of them were trading places in front of the master bedroom mirror, admiring their finery. Julian in his dusky green coattails, Elim a deep maroon, and Kulin his smaller, royal blue version of their tuxedos. They smoothed each other’s wrinkled shirts, patted hair, adjusted collars, bestowed praise and assurances. Garak couldn’t take his eyes off Bashir, and it wasn’t long before Kulin decided to give them space, volunteering to find Jake so they could check on the setup with Keiko. 

Miles had offered to let Julian spend the night and morning at his place, but he’d been turned down, and Garak was secretly thankful. He trusted his lover, but he also knew that if a whiskey was set in the doctor’s hand, he’d be much too polite to turn it down, and one could turn into two into stories and songs that whittled the night away. He much preferred his fiancé to be chipper and alert, rather than hungover and drooping.

Doting, however, was a given.

“Are you sure you’ve had enough to drink? We might not get the chance for a while, and dehydration can make a person dizzy when they have to stand for a while. We’re going to be on our feet all day. How do you feel?”

“I’m  _ fine _ . But if you keep up this incessant chatter,  _ you’ll _ get dehydrated. Slow down, Julian.”

“I know, I know. But maybe I should pack a little bag to take with us just in case. Water pouches, painkillers, hair gel. Backups.” He poised to head for the other room, but Garak grabbed his wrist.

“It’s time to  _ go _ , my dear. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were procrastinating.” He swept his thumb back and forth over the warm wrist, tempted to search higher for the scar.

Bashir ducked his head bashfully. “I suppose I am, a little bit. This is a really big day. I don’t know what to do, or say, or how to act. There’s going to be at least 50 people, you know, and they’re liable to remember this event; it’s kind of a landmark occurrence, really, when you think about it. Should I have allowed Jake to write a story on it? And take photos? Oh god, what if my  _ parents _ find out about it, when I haven’t even told them yet?”

Garak clasped one shoulder, and used his other hand to smooth the human’s hair down and cup his cheek. “Then tell them this evening, after everything is over. And you can always change your mind about the young Mr. Sisko. I’m sure he’d understand if you don’t want to broadcast our alliance.”

Bashir scoffed. “ _ Alliance _ . Really. And it’s not that I don’t want anyone to know, it’s just that being the subject of an article for who you’ve chosen to spend your life with is different from being published in a medical journal.” He took hold of Garak’s arms and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Elim. I’m making this all about me.” He pulled closer and pressed their foreheads together. Sucking in a deep breath, he exhaled loudly. “Okay. I’m okay. We’re both okay.”

Garak hugged his waist. “You’re apprehensive. It’s understandable. But don’t let it get in the way. We have an appointment in the holosuite in…” He checked the chrono. “15 minutes.”

“Fifteen--” Bashir glanced at the clock, then swayed. “Oh god.”

He wasn’t going to run for the refresher, was he? Garak gripped him forcefully on the hips. “Look at me,” he admonished. “Breathe. We’re going to take a walk, and we’re going to meet up with some friends, and then have a long, lovely chat with Captain Sisko. Everything else is just… details.”

The human dragged another shaky breath in. “Right. Details.” He raised his eyes to Garak’s. “You know that I love you, right? I’m not nervous about this, about  _ us _ .” He steadied. “I’m just a wreck in general, if you haven’t figured it out by now.”

Him? A wreck? Garak almost laughed. If  _ he _ was a wreck, then Garak was an outright warp core meltdown. “Nonsense, my dear. You just care very deeply. About others, about what they think, about everything. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Now come along, Doctor. We have somewhere to be and something to do.”

As planned, the endearment drew Bashir back. “You’re not going to still call me that when I’m your husband, are you?”

Garak winked, something he’d finally perfected after a month or so of practice. It wasn’t an expression that came naturally to Cardassians. “I guess you’ll have to marry me and find out.”

Their trip from the quarters to the holosuites was brisk but ebullient, with several short stops as they were greeted by nearly a dozen well-wishers. They strode through corridors and the promenade before proceeding into Quark’s and up the stairs. Morn saluted them from his seat as they passed. Garak had no doubt he’d find his way into  _ their _ bar at the reception later.

They reached the top just as Keiko was ushering a few final guests into the suite. As soon as she saw them, she clapped her hands to her mouth and squealed. “Oh my gosh! You look  _ amazing _ ! Look at you!” She patted at their lapels and brushed at Julian’s shoulders, then stepped back and took them in again. Her eyes grew teary. “I’m so happy for you.” She enfolded Bashir in a generous hug, releasing him to give Garak a side hug and pat his cheek fondly. “Miles, Jadzia, and Kulin are standing up front with Ben, just like we planned. Everything’s in place; everyone’s arrived and seated. The only thing missing is the two of you.” 

She gestured to the chamber, but Garak hung back. “Before we enter, may I enquire as to the setting?” He stared questioningly at her bare feet.

Keiko followed his gaze and smiled. “Casperia II.” Bashir widened his eyes in astonishment. Apparently he’d given his friend free reign over the arrangements. While Casperia Prime was known for its luxurious hospitality and was a popular honeymoon destination, Casperia II was famous for its varied and romantic landscapes, perfect for ceremonies of all kinds. The program for it must have cost a decent pile of latinum. “I tried to pick a location that would appeal to both of you. I’ll think you’ll like it.”

Bashir brushed her arm. “I’m sure we will. Thank you, Keiko. For all of your help.” He bent in and gave her a peck on the cheek. When he pulled back, he blinked several times. “You and Miles are the best friends a man could have.”

She batted him away. “Don’t forget Jadzia. A lot of this was _ her _ , too. Now c’mon. Let’s get you hitched before you get all mushy.” She pressed a button on the padd, and the door slid open.

Garak’s insides clenched, and when Bashir took his hand, it gripped back reflexively. Stomach in his throat, they stepped over the threshold.

There was a gray stone path leading forward to a large pergola covering all of the guests. The wooden columns, trellises, and crisscrossed beams were draped with flowering vines, the buds small and white. From both sides of the path to the horizon stretched sparkling burnished sand, with glints of gold and copper. The sky was a pale lavender, with diffused light scattered throughout, but no sun, which was gentle on Garak’s eyes. They paused for a moment to drink in the sight.

Scattered across the sand on each side of the stone walkway, the guests all hushed and turned around in their seats.

Julian’s fingers trembled, and Garak pulled him closer. They started up the aisle, pressed shoulder to shoulder and taking measured steps.

Garak tried to ignore the fact that they were surrounded by dozens of observers: Starfleet personnel and their families (including celebrities from the renowned Enterprise), shopkeepers and restaurateurs from the promenade, nurses and doctors with their dates, several of his closest patrons, and a few ambassadors. 

Martok was understandable; not only had they spent time together as prisoners at the internment camp, but they’d continued to stay in touch each time his ship docked. However, he still wasn’t sure who had informed Lwaxana Troi of their enjoinment. She’d invited herself unofficially as one of his most profligate customers, and officially as a representative of Betazed. He hoped her young son would keep her busy enough to not cause any mischief.

Before them on the raised dais up front and curving around to the seats were planters that alternated between red Terran roses and peach Cardassian orchids. While most of the scenery was nothing more than a trick of photons, those were real, and the guests would be allowed to take the pots home when they left.

Standing front and center was Captain Sisko, hands behind his back. Per request, he was garbed in his robes of the Emissary instead of his dress uniform. He and Bashir would wear that later, during the official documentation in the Federation records. For now, he waited patiently on the platform, his long black mantle sweeping the flagstones. He cut an imposing figure, although the light in his eyes was warm and welcoming, if slightly piercing.

They approached him and took the steps solemnly before parting to stand and face each other.

Sisko raised his arms and began. His voice boomed out over the congregation, no need for technological enhancements. “Since the days the first wooden ships crossed the seas, all captains have enjoyed the happy privilege of joining together two people in the bonds of matrimony.  _ Now _ , in the days of starships traversing the cold reaches of space, it is my honor to unite the two of you, Julian Subatoi Bashir and Elim Massol Garak, together in matrimony.”  (1)

The human’s eyes widened, and he mouthed the heretofore unknown middle name. Garak smiled slyly back. There was no doubt he’d be questioned about the validity of the information later.

In a Cardassian ceremony, the next part would involve the blood relatives being brought up to orchestrate a pact between the two families, with the agreements, constraints, and stipulations generally decided on beforehand, although there was the occasional surprise. Traded loyalties and negotiations usually took the better part of an hour. But neither of them had invited what little family they had, and so that entire portion was mercifully scrapped. Garak couldn’t find it in himself to be disappointed. He was looking forward more to the brief Ancient Hebitian passages that would be read towards the end.

Their officiator launched into a florid and sentimental length of prose that was clearly of human origin. Garak found it overly saccharine, but there were parts that he appreciated. Especially the lines that Bashir had picked out.

Sisko looked to the human first. “Love is patient; love is kind. It does not envy nor boast; it is not proud.” His eyes flicked away, briefly, in the direction of Worf and Martok. Out of the corner of his eye, Jadzia smirked. “It does not dishonor.” He turned to Garak. “It is not self-seeking. It is not easily angered, and keeps no record of wrongs. Love always protects… always trusts… always hopes. Love perseveres.”  (2)  In that moment, it felt like it was just their small group, surrounded by stone and sand, the words echoing out into eternity. Garak focused on the feeling, determined to carry it with him for the rest of his days.

They moved on to the exchange of vows, which would be divided into two parts. First was their public declarations of duty, announced to the crowd, per Cardassian custom. Second would be their personal pledges, said quietly to each other, with only their closest confidants as witnesses.

Bashir faced his friends and peers. Shoulders thrown back, he confidently declared his continued dedication to the welfare of others as a doctor of Starfleet and the Federation, and by extension, their allies and wards. He promised to be a model citizen and to protect the lives and values of his peoples, even through loss and war. Satisfied with his delivery, he stepped back.

Garak took his turn next. “And I swear to let him do all of that with  _ minimal _ interference,” he announced, smiling serenely at the few chuckles from the spectators. “In all seriousness, though, I vow my continued allegiance to Cardassia and her people, to continue in my duty by preserving the  _ spirit _ of Cardassia during these troubling times, and to fight for her freedom from poverty and tyranny.”  _ Let the Founders read THAT in Jake’s article and choke on it,  _ he thought fiercely. Worf gave him a savage grin, Martok a sharp nod. 

When he rounded back, Sisko’s eyes glinted with approval. The Emissary motioned for their witnesses to step forward. Kulin, Miles, and Jadzia crowded around them, forming a barrier between the couple and the rest of the wedding guests.

Garak went first this time. “My- My dear Julian.” He swallowed. “I don’t know what miraculous force brought you here, to me, but I thank the universe for it every day. You saved me from not only exile and the device inside my head, but from myself. Your company, your belief and support, your--” he chuckled. “Your  _ insufferable _ Federation optimism. I desire nothing more than to wake up at your side each morning, to spend every day exploring and learning and discoursing with you, to spend each night in the warmth of your embrace and know that it is mine alone. If I can have this, I will consider myself a man blessed above all others.” 

He lifted his chin to stare fervently at his lover. “I… I will do everything in my power to live up to your expectations, perhaps even surpass them. I will be wherever and whatever you need me to be. I will walk by your side in darkness and in light, through fortune and misfortune, failure and triumph, times of peace and war. I will stand between you and suffering, and slay those who would harm you. I will never betray you. You are my beacon, my haven, my soul. This-” Garak’s voice broke.

“This is my truth. This is my vow.”

A hush settled over the small huddle, and several of them blinked and wiped at their eyes. Sisko nodded silently to Bashir, who took both of Garak’s hands. Of course.

“Elim, I love you so much it hurts sometimes. No one knows me the way you do, appreciates me as you do, challenges me like you do. When everyone else saw an awkward, overly exuberant  _ boy _ , you saw an ally, a partner, a man with potential. You trusted me to be your aid and liaison, to hear your innermost thoughts and philosophies, to guard your darkest secrets. You believed in me when no one else did, not even myself. And that was  _ before _ you even knew what I was truly capable of. When I arrived on this station, I knew  _ what  _ I was: a genetically engineered human being, a Starfleet officer, a doctor. But it was through our discussions, our experiences, that I finally learned  _ who _ I am. And among other things, that is a man who is impossibly and irrevocably in love with you.” 

He swung their hands apart and back together again, gathering himself. “Elim, you are a remarkably complex and fascinating man, whom I respect and admire. You deserve so much more than life has given you, and I want to change that. I promise to listen to you, to care for and support you. To laugh with you and cry when you do. I promise…” he gripped tighter, tugging Garak’s hands closer. “I promise that you’ll never be alone. That when you need me, you won’t have to ask, because I’ll already be there. And know this: I’ve risked my life for you before, and I would do it again a thousand times over. You are worthy. You are valued. You are protected. I am now and always will be your lover, your confidant, your friend. This is my vow to you.”

The words washed over Garak, lifting the detritus of years of pain and self-loathing, swirling them around and carrying them away. Each phrase echoed in his head. He was worthy. He was valued. He was protected. Never had he felt as naked and yet comforted as in that moment. He shuddered at the release of decades of torment and trepidation, let go of doubt and distrust. 

Tears coursed freely down his cheeks, dripping from his chin and trailing down his neck.

Bashir’s calm veneer cracked, and he lifted their joined hands to brush his thumbs over Garak’s cheeks. “Don’t cry, Elim, don’t cry. I’m here, everything’s going to be alright-” He continued murmuring and swiping, unaware of the streaks running down his own face. 

Together, they lowered their clutched hands to bring their brows together and close their eyes, whispering to one another and trembling with overwhelming emotions. They held still, joined by more than skin and circumstances, caught up in joy and pain and hope.

Captain Sisko stepped up to them and began an intonation. It was technically too early for this part; there was supposed to be candle-lighting and sharing of a ceremonial cup and other Human, Cardassian, and Bajoran customs, but he just skipped ahead on to the end.

His reverberating basso benediction surrounded them and echoed out over the spectators. “May the light of the Prophets, Oralius, Allah, and the Heavens themselves shine down in blessing upon this union. Let this covenant bind you from this day forth as spouses, partners, mates. May you forever be husbands, Julian Bashir and Elim Garak.” He paused and waited for them to look his way.

“I now pronounce you... enjoined.”

Bashir let go to grab Garak’s face and pull him in for an immediate and passionate kiss. “I love you,” he mumbled between their lips. “There was supposed to be another part in there when I said that, but-” he leaned back to grin beatifically then pressed their mouths together again. “I love you I love you I love you.”

Garak returned the kisses ardently, seizing the human by his shoulders to hold him in place. He became vaguely aware of enthusiastic applause off to one side, accompanied by a few cheers and hollers. Someone clapped him on the back in congratulations. 

Joyous, celebratory strains of music faded in, a cue for them to greet the crowd and make their egress. They parted again, eyes still locked and lips parted in amazement. Garak stood rooted in place, stuck in a dreamlike haze. Bashir took his hand to lead him away, and Kulin gave him a friendly little shove forward. 

In a daze that barely afforded him the ability to see anything but the path before him, Garak floated down the stairs and over the stones. The crowd was simply a blur on each side, the only real things being the man clutching his hand and the door to the exit several paces ahead.

The words to the  [ song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DDHulO485k&list=PLQpPPhjCDLTEy0sxQFZ2_CaV2kCmghLpY&index=1) being played eased their way into his consciousness, and he recognized them from one of Julian and Kulin’s leisure collections, something that he’d become extremely fond of.

_ Into the wind _

_ I throw the night _

_ Silver and gold _

_ Turn into light _

_ I’m on the road _

_ I know the way _

_ Everything flows _

_ Here comes another new day _

Bashir slipped his hand out of Garak’s to wrap an arm around his shoulder. It wasn’t very proper of him, it wasn’t tradition, but it felt so comforting, and grounding, and right. He leaned in and slid his arm around the human’s waist. Their nearly matched heights made for a perfect fit, and he marvelled that they hadn’t walked in this manner yet before.

_ Echoes in rain _

_ Drifting in waves _

_ Long journey home _

_ Never too late _

Tears pricked at Garak’s eyes. The lyrics of the song had seemed almost too perfect when he’d first heard them. They encompassed everything that he was feeling, had felt for some time now. Reality seeped in slowly and then all at once at the sound of ‘home.’ A sob clenched inside his chest as they neared the exit, and he stumbled. Julian’s arm tightened around him and held him steady, kept him up and moving forward. 

_ Alleluia, alle-alle Alleluia _

They were leaving together.

_ Alleluia, Alleluia _

Together.

_ Alleluia, alle-alle Alleluia _

He wasn’t alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NGL, kinda cried while writing this. *fans hands at face*  
> (1) Adapted from Kirk & Picard’s wedding intro. You know Sisko wouldn’t be content leaving it alone. He’d have to jazz it up.  
> (2) A rough interpretation of Corinthians 13.  
> The rest of the ceremony was mine.  
> So. This makes a good ending. It all comes full circle. And if you like tidy happy endings all wrapped up in a bow, then this is your exit scene.  
> However, I still have 4 chapters of epilogue, and the last three have more angst (and sex). So if you’re interested in what happens AFTER happily ever after, stick around.


	16. Celestial Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding reception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourself for IMMENSE loads of conversation, because I’m dying to talk to someone beyond the comments section on facebook, tumblr, and AO3. THIS is now the longest chapter. (holy heck, 6800 words???)

For Cardassians, an enjoinment ceremony lasted the better part of two days. There were complex routines, procedures, and traditions to follow, as well as endless subtle plays for power and influence behind the scenes. The uniting families, friends, business partners, and sometimes even neighbors engaged in an intricate dance of give and take through discourse, gift exchanges, legal and governmental documentation, and occasionally the age-old, seemingly galaxy-wide practices of shared meals and mutually enjoyed physical pleasure between temporary pairings.

It was all very tedious and excessive, if Garak had to be honest. And in this case, he was more than willing to be forthright on the matter. If Bashir wanted to do things the Human way, he wasn’t going to complain. A wedding followed by a break and then a party sounded manageable, and abundantly more entertaining.

They were afforded a half-hour break after the ceremony, most of which was spent sitting at a table in the arboretum, just breathing and holding each other’s hands in the temporary peace and privacy. It was followed by a change of attire for the formal Starfleet session, located in Captain Sisko’s office, which was thankfully short and painless. At least for now. There was apparently still some negotiating to be done for Garak to become Bashir’s legal spouse and next-of-kin while not an official member of the Federation. That would be revisited at a future date.

Natima and Quark showed up towards the end of the proceeding for the Cardassian woman to provide her verbal, written, and genetic approval of their union, which lasted almost twice as long. She had to make a short speech, sign her own personal glyph over both of their signatures, and provide a scale that still contained viable DNA. She acquiesced not only willingly but joyfully, expressing her delight that people could still make time for things other than war. “We only fight for those things we hold dear, and sometimes we need a reminder who and what those things are,” she intoned sweetly, before giving each gentleman a kiss on the cheek and departing. Garak was reminded piercingly of Ziyal, and he had to take a solitary walk after that to pull himself back together.

Once Bashir found him, they made a second wardrobe change into their evening attire. As much as Garak despised the Starfleet dress uniforms, he was reluctant to expose their embroidered enjoinment jackets to synthale, food, and dancing, so they had each chosen a new ensemble. 

The doctor decided to sport his retro Terran tuxedo from his days as a “secret agent,” and Garak donned his most elaborate Cardassian tunic, one that he’d set aside some time ago for a special occasion. He was especially proud of the intricate burgundy, plum, and merlot panels that flattered his waist and fell to mid thigh, even if his mate called it “that fancy red and purple smock” and was prone to poking his finger between bits of overlapping fabric. There were some differences that would probably never be reconciled, he supposed.

Garak wasn’t particularly looking forward to the reception. Julian had assured him that Vic redesigned his bar to be larger and more open, which would reduce the clutter and chance of claustrophobia, but there were still going to be upwards of 50 people in attendance. Besides the O’Brien family, Kira and Odo, Dax and Worf, Quark and Natima, the Siskos were bringing Kasidy; Rom and Leeta had Nog. Martok had abstained from joining them, but Lwaxana and her son would be present. 

Bashir had invited the nurses and doctors who worked with him and allowed them dates, as well as his friend Felix from the Academy and some of his acquaintances from his brief stint on the Enterprise. As soon as they entered the holosuite, he pointed them out to his only vaguely-interested husband: Lieutenant Commander Data and Chief Engineer Geordi La Forge were talking to Miles and Worf. Dr. Beverly Crusher spotted them and waved, accompanied by her son, Wesley, and her date, none other than Captain Jean-Luc Picard. A mysterious woman named Guinan had also apparently invited herself to join them.

It was a large gathering, to be sure. The number of guests had been one of his capitulations to his gregarious lover. Julian had felt isolated so much of his life, and now was a chance for him to surround himself with people who loved and appreciated him. Garak could relate, on some level. 

They passed between many more guests on the way to their table, some of them Garak’s most loyal clients and fellow shopkeepers. He was greeted by smile after smile, glad tidings and congratulations all around. He’d always felt unwelcome on the station in general, but here, with everyone who was friendly to him concentrated in one place, maybe it didn’t seem so bad. Afterall, Keiko had once declared over her flowers that nobody liked everyone, so it wouldn’t make sense to want to be liked _by_ everyone. He made up his mind to find a way to thank each one of them individually later, and especially her.

Kulin waved them over to their table, which had a forest green tablecloth, rather than the black ones everywhere else. He hugged each guardian warmly. “Congratulations, _E-leem,Ju-leem,_ ” he greeted them, using his unique term of endearment for each. In what was turning out to be typical Kulin fashion, he’d created something new by fusing preexisting ideas. After talking with a Denobulan, he’d learned that because their families were so extensive, parents were denoted by the first part of their call name, followed by “father” or “mother.” Because the Bajoran term for “father” was _leem_ , it had made only too much sense in his mind to use that with Julian and Elim. Both men had agreed that it was remarkably fortuitous and apt, and it stuck. E-leem and Ju-leem.

“Thank you, kiddo,” Bashir replied. “That outfit looks familiar. Are you wearing one of Jake’s old shirts?”

“Yeah! I remembered not to wear my ceremonial jacket for this evening.” He forestalled Garak’s followup question. “Don’t worry, it’s hanging in Nog’s closet, cuz it’s so clean and organized.” He eyed the buffet hungrily. “Does that mean I can start eating now?”

Bashir laughed. “Any time you want. We’re not going to have a formal dinner.” Kulin darted off. The doctor turned to Garak. “I bet he’s due for a growth spurt, the way he’s been eating lately.”

Garak eyed him up. “He’s getting taller by the day. I may have to sew him more clothes soon.” 

A bony chin dug into his shoulder as Bashir hugged him from behind. “But not right away. We do have a honeymoon coming up. I say we just replicate him something, especially if he’s just going to grow out of it anyway. It’s always served _me_ well enough.”

Garak knew when he was being goaded, but he retorted anyway. “And it served _me_ as well. Those dreadfully mismatched ensembles frightened off more than one potential suitor, I’m sure. Lucky for you, I was charmed by your wit and warmth rather than your wardrobe.”

Bashir nuzzled his cheek. “Mm. Yes. Lucky me.” A nip to the neck. “Smartass.”

“Hey, you two. Get a holosuite.” They separated and turned to be greeted by Major Kira. She slapped a palm to her forehead. “I forgot. We’re already in one, aren’t we? Anyway, Jadzia told me to tell _you_ not to do your dance thing yet. She’s having some sort of wardrobe malfunction.” Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “Oh! And congratulations on...this.” She awarded Bashir a warm hug and nodded politely to Garak.

Jadzia swept in moments later, dressed in a tight purple gown with straps criss-crossing her chest and waist. She smiled merrily at them and hurried over. “Garak, I _love_ this dress. I don’t care how difficult it is to get in and out of, it’s my new favorite.” Before he could even reply, she attacked him with an excited embrace. With her heels, she was even taller than the tailor, and he felt almost intimidated by the sheer exuberance and affection that radiated from the Trill. But she backed off quickly and beamed at them again. “You’ve won yourself a life-long customer. Now we just have to convince Nerys to finally let you make her something.” She glared at the Bajoran with a mock stern expression. “A _real_ outfit, not just a holosuite costume.”

The major raised her eyebrows and pretended to notice something across the room. “Oh, look at that! I think Odo is calling me over.” She rushed off.

Jadzia put her hands on her hips and turned to the happy couple. “So. When are you doing this big human dance ritual? You know I’m a romantic at heart.”

Bashir turned to Garak. “I suppose we could start off with it. That way we have the rest of the time to eat and mingle with friends.”

“Oh good!” Jadzia clasped her hands together against her chest. “And save a song for me! I want to dance with each of you. And not just because it’ll make Worf jealous enough to get out there.” 

Garak thought it might be worth it just to see the Klingon officer navigating a dance floor instead of a battlefield. 

“I’ll go tell Vic to set it up.” She bestowed each a quick parting hug and set off.

“Is it really wise to give a sentient hologram such unrestricted abilities to alter his own program?” Garak wondered aloud.

Bashir just laughed it off. “Try stopping him! Did you know that he broke into the comm system for Odo’s security office when he was trying to fix him up with Kira? And that’s not even directly _connected_ to the holosuites. Felix really did a bang-up job this time around. A real masterpiece. I’ll have to introduce you later.”

Garak felt a brief flicker of what might have been jealousy. This Felix was the only person that Julian had invited from his Academy days. Did they have a romantic history? It was obvious they still kept in close touch, and that the doctor adored the holosuite programs that were developed or customized for him alone. How well did the designer know him, understand him? And why hadn’t it occurred to Garak before now to probe into his records? 

“Alright, all you gals, gents, and assorted galactic guests, I need your attention, because we’re going to take a minute here to congratulate our newly wedded couple.” Vic was up on the stage with a microphone (was such a prop _really_ necessary?), and he waved them over. The room fell to a hush. “Come on up here, you two lovebirds. I got a few words.”

Garak and Bashir made their way to the front to join him. Vic dropped an arm over the human’s shoulders and addressed the crowd. “Now, I’ve only known Julian for a short time, but we’ve talked a lot, and I’ve gotten to know him pretty well. And let me tell you, I’ve never seen him happier than when he told me he was gettin’ hitched. He lit up like a Christmas tree in Macy’s.” He glanced out over the silent crowd, who had no idea what he was talking about. “Ah, like a high beam on a Honda?” Nothing. “I know! He lit up like the bulbs on one of Quark’s Dabo tables.” He smiled in relief when a few scattered chuckles were returned. 

A tickle to the back of Garak’s hand made him look down. Bashir’s fingers brushed at his before working their way around until they were joined. The tightness in his chest returned; it was beginning to become a familiar feeling around his lover.

“Anyway, it’s wonderful to see two people who have so much in common and such a deep connection make that leap into something even bigger and better. You know-”

Dax cupped her hands around her mouth and interrupted. “Hey Vic! I’m the best man, don’t go stealing my speech!” But she smiled and elbowed Ben, who shook his head.

O’Brien chimed in. “Hey! He told me _I’m_ the best man!” 

Vic held out his hands in concession. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave the rest to the two of you. For now, I believe we’re going to have these two honor us with the first dance. Let’s have a big hand for our station’s newest husbands, Julian and Elim!” The few humans who understood the expression started clapping, and then everyone else joined in. Vic gave them each a friendly pat. “Congratulations, kids. Knock ‘em dead.”

As they stepped down to the dance floor, Garak couldn’t help commenting. “Must he use so many anachronisms? Surely he’d be more popular if his visitors weren’t constantly trying to decipher his meaning.”

Bashir groaned good-naturedly. “I don’t _care_ if he’s popular. It’s part of his charm. Besides, it’s no different than using an Andorian program and trying to make sense of all their snow and ice analogies. Now, stop complaining and dance with me.”

They drew together, one hand on each other’s waist and the others clasped up and to the side. The instrumentals started, and they began with a slow rock and step side to side. To minimize the chance of embarrassment, they’d practiced ahead of time and agreed that Garak was better at leading. He began slowly and guided them in a small circle until the vocals played.

_When you’re floating, lost in space_

_When the moon has turned away its face_

_When you’ve stopped, can’t find your pace_

_And the blackness swallows you whole_

_I’ll bring the sun, I’ll bring the stars_

_I’ll suppress your internal wars_

_I will find you there, from near or far_

_And use my love... to fill your soul_

Garak had planned on finessing in a few fancier moves, something elaborate to surprise his mate and impress the crowd, but now that he was in the moment, he was content just to hold the wonderful man in his arms, who was leaning into him and grinning bashfully. They swayed to the mellow beat as Bashir started mouthing along with the words.

_When I’m drifting, come unbound_

_When my vessel is crashing down_

_When I’m scared, can’t make a sound_

_And danger has taken its toll_

_Bring me the sun, bring me the stars_

_Bring peace to my internal wars_

_Please come to me, from near or far_

_And use your love... to fill my soul_

Garak dragged Bashir closer so that they were chest to chest and cheek to cheek, arms around each other. The suite was just on the near side of cool, and he reveled in the warmth permeating his skin from the human. His own private heat source, from now until forever. 

Other couples came out to join them on the floor: Miles and Keiko, Jadzia and Worf, then Ben and Kasidy, Nerys and Odo. As the space became more crowded, Garak closed his eyes to block them all out and just concentrated on the sound of the music and the body weaving with his own.

_When we’re soaring, through the dark_

_When cold despair has left its mark_

_When it’s hard to find the spark_

_And it seems like we have lost control_

_I’ll be your sun, you’ll be my stars_

_Light will end these infernal wars_

_Together now, we’ll never part_

_And our love.. Our love will mend our souls_

As the song drew to a close, Julian squeezed him tighter. “We’re going to have an awfully busy time tonight. But in case I forget to tell you later, I do love you, Elim.”

Garak hummed back, trying to get over the sudden lump in his throat. “I love you too, Julian,” he returned hoarsely. A new song started up, something jazzy that might have been from Trill. But the couple remained in place, still lost in their embrace. Garak felt like he couldn’t pull his arms away, and decided that he really didn’t want to. “Do we have to stay for the rest of the party, my dear? Couldn’t we go home early tonight? I’m sure our guests would be understanding.”

Bashir drew back and dragged his hands down Garak’s arms until they were holding both hands. “Elim, love, we’re going to have our whole lives together. But this might be the only time we have everyone else with us.” He dipped his head and looked up with those imploring eyes and raised one hand to kiss Garak’s knuckles. “Could we stay, please? For me?”

“How could I say no to that? Your skills at manipulation are improving, my dear.” 

He was awarded a saucy smile. “I learned from the best.”

Jadzia slid up next to them. “Hey Julian. Who’s the man with the pasty skin? He doesn’t look totally human, but he’s definitely not Vulcan or Romulan. He came in with the Enterprise, right?”

Bashir knew who she was referring to, but he glanced around the room anyway until spotting him. “Well, he’s not completely a man at all, really. He’s an android.” Kulin, Jake, and Nog were crowded around Data. They appeared to all be asking him questions at once.

“That explains why he’s so unflappable. Lwaxana patted him on the backside earlier, and he barely flinched. And you’ll be glad to hear that she just left, too. She tried cozying up to Odo and that Captain Picard, but since they both have a date, I think she just gave up. So!” She smiled at them brightly. “Who do I get to dance with first?”

Bashir squeezed his husband’s hand. “Do you mind if Jadzia and I have a song or two?”

“No, of course. That’s fine.” Garak bowed out and retreated to the bar, where he took a stool on the far end from Morn. 

Not even a minute later, a human with bleached white hair joined him. With tan skin over a lanky fram and a blue button-up shirt, he held more than a passing resemblance to Julian. “Hello there, Mr. Garak.” He didn’t offer his hand, but nodded affably. “Enjoying my program?”

“You must be the famous Felix.” He paused and waited.

“Felix Chandal. Julian’s mentioned me, then.”

“He has spoken very highly of you. Forgive my asking, but are the two of you related?”

Felix smiled with one side of his mouth. “No, but we used to get that all the time. His family’s middle-Eastern, but mine is Indian. Even humans had a hard time telling the difference between us, so don’t feel bad.”

“You sound like Captain Sisko, though, and he’s from North America.”

“Well, my ancestors were Indian. I was born and raised in San Francisco. You know all about Earth, then?”

“I’ve learned quite a bit since becoming acquainted with Julian.”

“Ah.” He took a sip of the drink that he’d brought over. “Do you think you’ll ever come visit?”

Garak knew he was probably just making conversation, but something prickled at him, and he decided to be cautious with his answers. “We haven’t discussed it, but perhaps some time in the future. After the war, of course, assuming it would be possible.” Assuming they were both alive, and that there was still an Earth to visit.

Felix took another sip. “Have you met his parents, then?” That particular question set off warning bells in Garak’s head, but the brown eyes staring into his were serious and concerned.

“I have not.” Discerning that this was the honest interest of a friend and not a spy, Garak elaborated. “I believe they do not have as close a relationship as some humans do.”

Felix made a noise. “That’s a polite way of saying it. At least Julian has friends here. That can be more important than relatives for some of us.” He seemed to be sharing that it applied to him as well.

Garak nodded in agreement. “Who we choose to surround ourselves with matters more than whose blood we share.”

“Blood. Blood’s a funny thing, isn’t it?” Felix stared down into his empty glass. “Did you know? About Julian, um, being different? Before it came out?”

“Do you mean about him being genetically altered?” A nod. “No, I did not. But it does not make a difference to me. Dr. Bashir is who he is, and no amount of guessing or what-ifs will change that. I accept him, whether he was born this way or not. Does it bother you?” he asked sharply.

“No! No, not at all. I just… I always knew he was carrying around this dark, heavy secret. It really bothered him, ate at him. Some secrets are okay. Small, inconsequential lies. But big ones can really cause harm.” He grimaced. “I heard you’re a man with some very _large_ secrets, Mr. Garak. That you used to be a spy. An interrogator. Possibly more.”

Rather than be worried, Garak felt relief. Felix was just trying to protect his friend. “Those would be accurate statements. I do hold many secrets, more than you could possibly imagine. But Julian knows several of them, and he is aware of the _existence_ of the ones I have not shared, even if not the details.” He thought it might be time to redirect the conversation. “Do you have some experience with secrecy yourself, Mr. Chandal? Your spy program was a favorite of Julian’s for some time, at least until he became trapped in it.”

The next half hour was spent with Garak regaling Felix of the mishap involving the Defiant, its transporters, and the holosuites. At the time, it had been a frustrating and even harrowing ordeal, but fully two years later Garak was able to laugh over the events. He even showed the programmer the scar on his neck, which he’d kept. 

“Julian _shot_ you?! I don’t believe it.”

“He did,” Garak boasted proudly. “He does not back down when lives are on the line. I’ve always admired that about him. And of course he wasn’t aiming to kill, just to warn me.” During the tale, he’d slowly turned to face the crowd, sure to keep an eye on everyone else just in case. But his husband was safely socializing with Chief O’Brien and no suspicious activity aroused his attention, so he turned back toward Felix. “Julian is full of surprises. And I’ve never been disappointed by one of them.”

Felix hummed back, looking pensive. “Yes he is,” he said quietly.

On a hunch, Garak pried. “Were you and he…?”

“Hmm? Yeah. After he broke things off with Palis.” His eyes widened, realizing what he’d said and to whom. “But only for a little while. We were, um, romantic, but that was it. Never anything… more.”

Garak wasn’t sure what that distinction meant, or why he felt the need to make it. “Well, he must still be fond of you, having invited you to our wedding,” he offered. “He chose for _you_ to be here but not his own parents, so take that as you will.”

“Yes, you’re right. Would you… mind if he and I had one dance this evening?”

Garak nodded magnanimously; he knew who Julian was going home with. “I’m sure he’d like that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe it is my duty to thank more of our guests for their attendance this evening.” He sketched a little half-bow and received one in return.

His social flutterby of a husband was now in a conversation with one of the humans from the Enterprise, the darker one with some sort of device over his eyes. Bashir gesticulated wildly, and his friend shook his head, slicing one hand downward in a decisive movement. But whatever the disagreement was, it wasn’t serious; he could tell by their engaged expressions and body postures. He’d leave them to it for now.

Garak decided he ought to actually do what he’d told Felix, and began making stops around the room. He spent a few minutes with Captains Sisko and Yates, then shared hasperat on crackers with Odo and Nerys. Kulin interrupted to ask for permission to “show Mr. Data and Wesley around the station” with Nog and Jake, and he granted it. Odo didn’t look too happy about that, but Garak assured him that the android would keep them from getting into serious trouble. Odo had perked up at that, intrigued about the prospect of another being who was non-humanoid but could pass as one, and excused himself to “check on the boys.” 

To Garak’s surprise, Nerys asked him for a dance, and they circled the floor to a piano version of a Bajoran folk tune. He tried to catch Bashir’s eye as they revolved, but then Jadzia cut in and swung him in a wild loop. He made an attempt to take charge over the steps, which she countered, and soon they were battling via foot and hand placement, a struggle for dominance that repeatedly switched up to the bouncy tune being played onstage. By the time the music ended, they were both feeling more than a little winded and grinning so hard their mouths hurt. It had been an astoundingly enjoyable challenge. Maybe he should take her up on her offer as a sparring partner.

When they parted, Garak set off again to find his dear doctor, only to nearly run into the man as he turned around. They hugged and kissed happily and steered each other back to their table for a minute to rest. Bashir scooted his chair closer until their legs were touching and leaned over onto his shoulder, and Garak slid an arm about his waist. 

They watched the diners and dancers move around them, both catching sight of a woman with a large hat who approached Captain Sisko. They seemed to size each other up, then she said something that made him frown, and they headed over to an empty corner.

“What was that all about, do you think?” Garak asked, only mildly interested in the matter.

“Guinan is an El-Aurian. She’s not a Q or anything, but she definitely, ah, knows things. She said it was time for her to finally meet the Emissary.”

“Is that so?” Garak asked interestedly. He nodded to the bar, where she had been serving drinks alongside Quark for most of the evening, pausing between cocktails to converse animatedly with Vic. “Because it appeared to me that she’s spent most of the evening in the company of Mr. Fontaine.”

Bashir lit up. “That’s right! She’s helping to fill him in on the rest of the 20th century. For some reason, he’s developed a fondness for the 1990’s.” He wiggled closer. “I really want a chance to talk to Dr. Crusher in person again; I’m so glad she could make it. There are just so many people to talk to. But right now it’s nice to take a moment to sit together and catch our breaths. ”

Garak hummed noncommittally. “I _have_ noticed that the number of attendees seems to have risen rather than fallen.” He flexed the fingers tucked around his husband’s waist, causing the younger man to squirm at the tickle. “Did you happen to invite more friends to our reception?”

“Well...I figured it _is_ a party, and we _do_ have plenty of food and space, so I might have invited a few more people from around the station. It feels like there’s so little to celebrate these days, and if we can spread a some joy for just a little bit, then the more the merrier, right?”

In Garak’s experience, it was “the more the greater the risk,” but he refrained from stating that. In truth, he’d attended much larger social functions than this one and still managed just fine. Besides, he still held a few items on his person that could be useful in the event of an emergency. “If it makes you happy, then I see no problem with a few extra additions,” he allowed.

In no time at all, Bashir was up and off to schmooze again. Garak took the chance to visit the facilities and return stealthily to observe from a dark back corner. He wasn’t being paranoid, he promised himself. Merely taking the time to see who all had come and gone, and what everyone was up to. 

Odo nodded to him in passing, and Quark saluted him with a glass from the bar. He realized with certainty that if anything were to go wrong, those two could be relied on to coordinate an attack with. They may not be associates, but they knew him just as well, maybe even better. He could read their expressions and body language, and vice versa. 

And Captain Sisko, in the other corner, engage with Guinan but still sweeping his eyes over the gathering occasionally. Even O’Brien and Kira, Dax and Worf. At least three of them were carrying a weapon, or more than one, and even relaxed, they would be ready to spring into action if needed.

No, if trouble showed up, it would be taken care of before it knew what hit it.

He smiled in grim satisfaction.

Now to take care of other business.

As soon as Garak heard that the illustrious Jean-Luc Picard would be attending their special day, he knew that the man would seek him out. He was too well-known for the tenacity of his Federation-mindedness to do anything otherwise. The meritorious and principled captain of Starfleet’s flagship would want to establish a _rapport_ , to visibly demonstrate that he held Cardassia no ill will after his capture and subsequent ill treatment by their government. 

Garak abhorred the idea of being used as a figurehead for his race just to forward the Federation agenda. He would not be maneuvered into capitulating on behalf of his homeland, especially when Picard hadn’t even been formally invited in the first place; he was merely the guest of a guest. So Garak had early on resolved to approach the Captain first, and hopefully put him on the defensive.

As soon as the man walked over to the refreshment table, Garak glided up beside him. “Captain Jean-Luc Picard, what an honor to meet you. Elim Garak.” He held out his hand in the human manner. 

The captain inclined his head cordially in a nearly Cardassian fashion, and shook his hand firmly, twice, somehow managing to be both assertive and casual. “The honor is all mine,” he returned warmly. “Congratulations on your enjoinment. It was a lovely ceremony, and the reception is a delight.” He glanced about the space. “I haven’t set foot on Deep Space Nine in several years, and I’m pleased to see how well it’s thrived. I only wish I could spare more time to experience what it has to offer and become better acquainted with everyone.” 

Garak found himself caught slightly off guard. The praise seemed honest, the regret genuine. “Yes, well, we’re hardly the USS Enterprise, but I’d like to think we have a certain… charm,” he commented. 

Picard turned back to him. “Oh, don’t sell yourselves short. You’ve developed a culture all your own aboard this- this city. A fusion of Bajoran and Federation ideals and holidays, with Ferengi flair and,” he gazed down at the display on the table in front of him, “even a few Cardassian embellishments. I understand that most of these teas are from your homeworld?”

“Why yes, they are. We have redleaf and oceanleaf here, _ta’zbata_ and _irkun_ over there, and kamoy berry in back. The rest are…” he waved his hand over the cups that ranged from yellow to brown to red, “from various other cultures and planets. My husband’s favorite is the Tarkalean.” He pointed to a grayish-brown specimen.

“And yours?”

“The redleaf.” Garak selected one from the warming plate to offer.

Picard accepted it. He brought it close enough to inhale, closing his eyes. After a content nod, he took a sip. Savoring the beverage, he rolled it around in his mouth before swallowing. “Quite strong. Bitter, a little tart. Robust.” He drank some more. “It tastes fresh, too. Not replicated.”

Garak beamed. “I’m so glad you can tell the difference! Not many can. Tell me, are you a connoisseur of tea?” 

The captain smiled back. “I don’t know if I’d say a _connoisseur_ , but I do appreciate a well-steeped brew now and again. I’ve tried many varieties, but I seem to fall back on an old favorite, Earl Grey.” Garak held back a grimace. He’d tried that particular one before, seeing as it came standard with all Federation replicators. But Picard was very astute. “Not a fan, I assume?”

“I wouldn’t say that I’m not a fan. I simply found it to be… rather bland, for all its presumptuous reputation. It’s bolstered by a lot of hype but fails to deliver up to expectations.”

Picard lowered his hands, cradling the cup. “I see. It’s possible that the recipe has become… somewhat watered down with time. Our resources have become rather strained, stretched out as we are across the quadrant.”

Garak let out a short sigh. Good. The man followed. “I prefer my redleaf, but it’s hard to come by these days.”

“It’s not for everyone,” Picard acknowledged. “Some might consider it a little harsh for their taste. Unforgiving even. Having tasted it myself, I’m not sure that I’d want to try it again. But, perhaps.” He looked Garak in the eye. “Perhaps this particular cup steeped for too long, and is more concentrated than most. Its preparation may have been overzealous. Common redleaf tea may be more mild.” Picard raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

Garak thought that he could come to appreciate this man. He understood subtlety, saying without saying. “You may be right. Tell me, do you have any Earl Grey that isn’t replicated? I might learn to appreciate it, if it comes with your recommendation.”

Picard set his cup on the table and straightened his jacket. “I do, in fact. I’ve become fond of this one that originates from a plantation on Luna. I could send some your way, as a wedding gift. To be honest, Beverly and I were unsure what to bring. She insisted that books would be too boring, but you strike me as a man who wouldn’t mind sitting back with a novel at the end of a weary day. Do you read, Mr. Garak?”

“I do! Have you heard of Cardassian enigma tales?” 

Before he knew it, Garak was drawn into a discussion over literature from across the quadrant, from Vulcan to Andorian, historical to poetic. To his delight and chagrin, he found his conversational partner even more diversified and proficient than himself. They made their way to a nearby table to share hors devours and compare collections. 

Just when they started to realize that a good deal of time had passed and their dates were nowhere to be seen, Garak spotted the two doctors conversing across the room. He pointed them out to Jean-Luc as a low and winding instrumental tune began to play.

Dr. Crusher stood on tiptoe to whisper something in Bashir’s ear, then held out her hand imperiously. The younger doctor grinned impishly back and curtsied, then accepted. She led him out onto the floor, where they proceeded to describe the most exaggerated form of a waltz that Garak had ever witnessed. 

“She knows that I love this song,” Picard said stiffly.

Winking to the two of them, Beverly spun her partner in a twirl that belonged more in a children’s ballet than a staid court dance. While executed with an astonishing amount of grace, the silly expression on Bashir’s face contradicted the seriousness of his performance. They whirled and box stepped around the floor, circling other couples and generally making a spectacular scene of themselves.

Garak barely concealed his exasperation. “To use a human term, I believe they are _taunting_ us, Captain.”

Picard cocked his head, considering the pair from a new light. “Indeed,” he agreed. He removed the napkin from his lap. “Shall we show them how it should be properly done?”

“If for no reason other than to wipe those smug grins from their faces, we shall.” Garak stood up. “Lead on.”

The captain rounded about, clasping one hand and tucking the other about the Cardassian’s waist. And then they were off, one two three, one two three, and turn two three. Picard was a confident and capable dancer, polite and steady, his feet always in the right place, his signals subtle but sure. Garak could feel defined muscles working in the back and shoulder underneath his hand, hidden grace and power concealed beneath the gaudy dress uniform.

Ample space cleared around them as they dipped and turned. His partner’s style was far from ostentatious or elaborate, but his presence commanded attention, and Garak felt himself admiring the man despite himself.

When Julian cut in almost jealously, they accorded each other a bow of the head and parted. Garak stepped into the lead and spun them around several times until they were almost dizzy. Stumbling, Bashir shook his head. “That was really something. I hope you know that half of the guests were snapping pictures and videos of the two of you out there.”

Garak huffed. “Better me and the Captain than the two of you _doctors_ and that ridiculous display you put on. Just how much have you had to drink?” 

“Not nearly enough,” his husband replied cheerily. “But the night is still young. Would you like a drink too, or would you prefer to keep your wits about you?”

It _was_ his wedding after all. Maybe he should go ahead and relax, and let other people worry about security matters and any further political intrigue. “Let’s talk to Quark.”

From that point on, the rest of the event glided by with the aid of carefully modulated kanar, wine, and some sort of Trill berry champagne (provided by Jadzia, of course) while speeches were made and his husband danced with a few more friends. Faces came and went, hugs were given and received, and more and more time was spent gluing himself to Bashir’s side. Even so, it wasn’t until Garak actually stepped on the human’s toes that either of them realized that he’d become fairly inebriated.

“How are you feeling, love?” Bashir asked fondly. “About ready to turn in for the night?”

“Feeling splendid, my dear, especially when you call me that.”

“Call you what? Love?” He grinned. “I’ll make sure to do that more often. So what do you think? I’m just about tuckered out, and it looks like things are winding down. The O’Briens went back home to their kids, Kira and Odo mysteriously disappeared, Quark’s pouting now that Natima left, even Morn’s gone. Think I saw him leave with Guinan. Of course Jadzia’s still running strong, but…” His jaw opened into a wide yawn. “Yep, time for bed.”

Bed sounded wonderful. “Yes, I believe we have fulfilled our social obligations.” Garak tried to smile suggestively. “Perhaps we should take care of the nuptial ones.”

Bashir made a rude noise. “Sex is _not_ an obligation.” But he tugged his partner towards the exit anyway. They were already close, and no one even noticed as they slipped out.

Garak felt more light-headed than he would have expected, and everything floated past him in a surreal blur. Occasionally, the floor tilted under his feet. He put forth his best effort to walk with exaggerated carefulness, so as to not show just how much the alcohol has affected him, but something told him it wasn’t working.

His husband, a good ten meters ahead, turned around and put his hands on his hips. His shoulders shook with stifled laughter. “Elim, _what_ are you doing?”

“ _Walking_. It’s not my fault you have longer legs.”

“And steadier ones, too. You’re listing to one side, and we still haven’t made it to our quarters, even though we got off the lift 5 minutes ago.”

Garak didn’t even remember _using_ the lift.

Bashir came back and offered his hand. The sleeve of the suit pulled up, revealing a slice of wrist that had been hidden away all evening.

Feeling sentimental, Garak wrapped his hand around it and pushed the fabric away to glimpse the pale crescent-shaped patch of skin underneath. He brought it up to his mouth and gave the scar a firm kiss. “Mine,” he murmured, studying the patterns of veins beneath. He followed them up to the sleeve, then up the arm and shoulder to the glowing face that was serenely watching him. 

“Yours.” Bashir cupped his face and drew him forward into a kiss. Garak relaxed into it, feeling the human’s other hand run down from his shoulder to his own wrist, where a thumb nudged its way under the sleeve. It brushed back and forth over Garak’s mark, sending warm tingles through his blood. “And you’re mine.”

“Yes. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It isn’t as polished as I’d like, but I’m headed into a major depressive episode, and if I don’t break the cycle, I probably won’t be able to finish the rest, so I at least wanted to get this posted.  
> I almost used “Crash and Burn” by Savage Garden for their dance, but I also really wanted something that had a futuristic tone to it to fit in with Star Trek, so I wrote something from scratch instead.  
> Also, after reading Una McCormack, I couldn’t NOT add Captain Picard. I absolutely love his dynamic with Garak.  
> \---  
> I'm hanging in there, and hope you all are too. Lots of love to all!


	17. Once Upon a Bajor- Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honeymoon part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know that I’ve been referring to “Bashir” this whole time, but I can’t really call him that any more, so from here on out, he’s Julian.  
> And I didn’t want to add more angst. But Elim says some things to each Julian here that I wish someone had said to me (especially after my 7th surgery). So yes, we’re due for sexy times, but there’s heartache, too.  
> And more sexy times next chapter, because they're on a honeymoon, and they've earned it.

A pair of bronze fingers approached Garak’s mouth, pinched around a plump, deep red strawberry. He opened up to allow entry, then bit down just short of the leaves (and the fingertips). Rich, cloying juice filled his mouth, and he closed his eyes to savor the tart and sweet flavors as they danced across his tongue. Why he had never tried these fruits before was now a mystery to him. They were even better than tulaberries.

He chose a piece of salted Delavian chocolate and offered it up to his companion, who opened his mouth far too early with a devious glint in his eyes, his tongue delicately darting out for a taste as soon as the treat was within reach. He found a gray finger instead but didn’t appear disappointed as it slipped inside with the chocolate. He closed his eyes and sealed his lips around both treat and deliverer, sucking gently. The pleased hum he made was positively obscene, but Garak couldn’t find a fiber in his being to care. His fingertips were on fire, tingles racing through his hand, and suddenly the sun overhead felt twice as hot.

Reluctantly, he withdrew. But Julian grabbed his hand, holding it still to remove every last trace of sugar with his mouth. Garak watched avidly, imagining something else in its place. Their eyes met and traded promises that this would be continued later in the evening, in their private suite.

He tugged his hand playfully a second time, but it still wasn’t released. Julian flipped it over to study each finger, stopping to twist gently at the golden ring around one. It was an antiquated human custom, centuries out of date and horribly out of fashion, but Garak absolutely adored it. The contrast against his gray skin was exquisite, the swirls of English calligraphy etched into the metal almost floral in their design.

Garak reached up with his free hand to examine Julian’s ring in turn. A polished silver that gleamed on his dark fingers, Cardassian ideograms sharp and angular and printed in his initials: EMG.

His eyes were drawn back to his own ring, still incredulous at what he saw there: JSG. Julian Subatoi Garak. His stomach clenched and his throat closed, and it was suddenly hard to swallow. Julian had taken his last name. It was another human custom long since fallen out of favor, but it was still common practice in the Cardassian Union, and Julian had insisted it made him feel like they would be even closer as a family if they all shared a name. It was a plain and simple sort of logic that Garak couldn’t argue with, and didn’t want to. Kulin had been delighted as well.

Their hands slowly lowered between them and they simply gazed at each other for a few minutes, feeling as if the only things on the planet were them, the waves, and the plateau of rock under their legs. But time marched steadily forward, and someone spoke further down the beach, and the moment drew to a close.

They packed the fruits and desserts back into the cooler, and Julian spread out a thick towel to bask on. Garak stretched out next to him directly on the black slab, appreciating the faint burn against his scales and feeling like he might actually thaw all of the way through for once. There was still the faint throb and additional heat coiled between his legs from their interactions, and he debated the merits of waiting until they returned to their room to act on their desires. He snuck a glance at his partner, who was surreptitiously trying to readjust his trunks over a low bulge. 

Julian caught his appraisal. “Why do I get the feeling I know exactly what you’re thinking?”

Garak shut his eyes and turned away in feigned disinterest. “I’ve heard it said that great minds think alike.”

A breathy chuckle. “I’m not at all sure either of us is thinking with our brain at the moment.”

Garak reopened his eyes and rolled onto his side to peer seriously down at the human. “My dear, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re hardly alone out here.”

“I know, I know,” Julian groaned in frustration. “I suppose that’s one of the downsides to picking such a popular resort. Although…” He mirrored Garak. “I do seem to recall you hinting a while back that you were interested in exhibitionism.” His eyes danced in good humor, but there was the tiniest spark of challenge, also. His pupils had already expanded substantially.

A thrill sparked through Garak, both interest and fluster. The thought of doing something sexually explicit in a public place was both titillating and terrifying. On the one hand, he’d never done so before and might never have the opportunity again. He’d heard of many races having quite scandalous honeymoons, and hardly anyone ever seemed to regret the memories they made. On the other hand… well… that also required a certain amount of vulnerability, allowing yourself to be  _ out there _ , so to speak. He wavered in indecision, his body warring with his mind.

Julian licked his lips, his eyes darting back and forth. “There’s, ah… the ocean. When you’re face to face out there, no one can really tell what’s going on under the surface. And there’s the dunes, although I’ve heard the sand getting in your cracks can be a bit of bitch.” He blushed at the language that had escaped. “What about the boulder pile? If there aren’t any snakes, there might be some privacy.” He looked back toward the hotel. “Or I’m sure a ton of people have sex in the showers if you don’t mind standing up.”

Garak analyzed each scenario as it was presented, enjoying the picture before discarding each option. The ocean was too cold, the dunes too messy. There was no guarantee they’d find a comfortable spot among the rocks or wouldn’t happen across another couple with the same idea. And he had no desire to engage in  _ any _ sort of activity with nothing more than a curtain between him and half a dozen other people. An absolutely outrageous idea occurred to him, one that had him reeling in its blatant audacity, but that he couldn’t find any immediate fault with. Before he could lose his courage, he ventured, “What about right here?”

Julian’s eyes grew round, and his mouth popped open a little. “Here?”

“Yes. Your towel is large enough to cover the both of us, I believe.” He’d made fun of it earlier, claiming the material was nearly thick and large enough to be considered a blanket, but now those same properties made it an asset.

The doctor glanced down at the towel, then back at Garak. He swallowed nervously. “You’re serious?”

“Only if you are.”

Julian’s head whipped back and forth as he checked up and down the beach. They  _ were _ fairly alone in their area. Far enough from the water to not be among the other towels, far enough from the hotel to be out of the main hustle and bustle of guests. “Um, okay.” He slithered over to Garak and clambered on top of him, and they both arranged the towel along their lengths. Bathed in the muted light of wide yellow and orange stripes, the sun shone through sufficiently for them to still see everything.

There was a definite lump pressing into Garak’s ajan, and he raised his hips a little to grind into it. Julian smiled back flirtatiously, and dropped down to meet his lips. “We might have to do this quickly before I overheat in here,” he mumbled into the kiss. But he didn’t hurry anything, and they spent a few minutes just caressing cheeks, jaws, and shoulders as they rubbed against each other. Garak could feel himself growing fuller and more slick down below, and apparently his lover did, too, because he reached down between them to press his fingers into the damp fabric. “Mm. Think you’re ready?”

Garak nodded, and they both shimmied and wiggled enough to get their swimwear down to mid-thigh. This really only left room for one configuration, but he didn’t mind in the least. Julian first just slotted his cock vertically into the seam, his erection hugged by Garak’s opening, and he rubbed up and down teasingly. “I just realized we could have done oral instead of this,” he snickered. “And we still haven’t tried 69 yet. Oh well.” 

The Cardassian wasn’t sure what the latter statement meant, but he wasn’t interested in finding out at the moment. Instead, he squeezed one buttock and wiggled a finger in towards the center to tease back. 

Several giggles broke their way into the conversation, and they both froze. It sounded as if a small group was passing by. Garak became distracted by the skin molded into his, and realized that this was  _ all _ he felt. No hairs, not even a stubble. Not  _ anywhere. _ “Julian, my love. Have you performed some additional grooming?” he asked quietly. 

The human’s eyes lit up. “We did mention it, some time ago. I thought it might be fun to try for this week.”

Garak agreed wholeheartedly. “I’ll make sure to give it the proper attention later on,” he promised.

The sounds of other people faded away, and their eyes met again, only to close as their mouths came back together. Julian arched slightly to work his hand around himself and direct his angle, then slid deliciously into Garak’s ajan. The heat was unbelievable, despite having been experienced so many times before. Part of it was just the girth of the organ, round enough to press into all of his tissues at once, filling him like molten duridium being poured into a mold. He gasped and groaned into Julian’s mouth, and was rewarded with a tongue tracing over each lip before the bottom one was nipped and suckled on. He clenched his lower muscles, and the human moaned right back.

They both seemed only distantly aware of their location now. More important was the taste of chocolate and strawberries being shared, the slide of velvety member brushing between sleek walls, the permeating warmth of the day making muscles and movements deep and languid. They drew apart until almost completely separated, the tip of Julian’s cock barely inside, and then slotted back together, repeating over and over again. 

Garak opened his legs a little, letting Julian move between them, allowing his knees to provide extra leverage in his thrusts. The angle forced his crown right into the base of Garak’s prUt, and it bucked in its cage. Julian backed out to let the phallus evert, then dove back in again.

The immediate presence of cool air was startling, but Garak replaced it with his hand and began stroking himself. “Oh, Julian…” he murmured. 

Julian kissed his way down Garak’s face to his neck and began nibbling around individual ridges. Tingles wove through his shoulders, swirling their way down to join the fire building between his legs. Wanting to give as good as he got, he took his now-lubricated hand off himself and waited until Julian moved upward and into him before inserting it into his mate. The human jerked over him, spasming so hard Garak could feel his internal organs being rammed into. They held the position, breathing in heaves, and droplets of sweat dripped off of Julian and onto Garak.

“Elim. Oh god, I’m getting lightheaded.” 

The tailor wiggled his finger back and forth, and Julian whimpered. He switched his thrusts to a side to side wind that matched the wiggle. As far in as the member was buried, Garak felt like he was being fucked in three directions all at once: the left, the right, and deep, deep inside. All of a sudden Julian cried out into his shoulder and the hands that had been holding his arms tightened until he could feel nails digging into his skin. The pulsing spurts of liquid inside sent him over the edge too, and wave after wave of what felt like sunlight throbbed through him, first groin to head and then back down again.

Both bodies gradually relaxed, tight muscles gradually loosening until Garak was once again flush against the rock and Julian was limply arranged over him. They kissed each other’s cheeks tiredly and spent the next several minutes getting their breath back. 

Eventually, Garak realized that his toes were uncovered, then everything from his knees down. The towel had shifted during their exertions, although thankfully it hadn’t come off altogether. Thank goodness for small mercies.

They pulled their garments back on, and Julian climbed off to return to his previous position, lying on his back in the sun on top of the towel. Gaudy as it was, Garak decided he was definitely forming an attachment to it.

The next half hour or so was spent just silently soaking in the sun while listening to the surf. They flipped over at different intervals to get both front and back evenly, and Garak was amused by his companion having to keep turning his face away to make sure it didn’t burn on one side. But he couldn’t seem to stop snatching adoring glances back at Garak. 

Once he finally settled down, the Cardassian did too, and he drifted in and out of sleep drowsily.

“Someday.” Was Julian talking in his sleep? “Someday, Elim.” 

“Someday, what my dear?”

“Someday I’m going to take you on a real honeymoon. Maybe on a cruise ship through the Permanganate Anomaly or the Iridescent Dust Fields. I’ve heard the rings of Zsernon V are absolutely magnificent. And those ships have every luxury you could ever want. The finest foods, the plushest furniture, arboretums with exotic plants from around the galaxy…”

His descriptions held  _ some _ appeal. “But they _ are _ still ships, my dear. Whereas this may be simply Bajor, close to our home and hardly mysterious, but it  _ is  _ out in the open air and under a vast sky with genuine clouds and sunsets. Besides, on Cardassia, we don’t even have honeymoons. We simply return to work. No celebration is had until at least three years of a successful marriage. Or a year after the birth of an offspring.”

“Really, I suppose that makes a certain kind of sense. If what you value is productivity over personal well-being.” Garak readied a response, but Julian jumped back in. “God, I’m sorry! That sounded terrible. I didn’t mean to put down your people like that.”

“No, you’re right. We  _ do _ place a great deal of emphasis on an individual’s contribution rather than their happiness. And if a couple falls on hard times, be it health or economic, they may never go on a trip at all. I can see the justification for celebrating immediately after an enjoinment. You’re scheduled to leave soon, aren’t you? In the next week or two?”

“Yeah. It’s just an escort for a convoy, but it’s going to be a long mission. I’m glad we could get this in before that.”

“Me too.” Garak reached his hand out, and they entwined fingers on the towel.

“It’s the strangest thing,” Julian mused out loud. “I was born on Earth, but I’ve spent so much time traveling in space, and now over six years on Deep Space Nine, that being  _ not _ on a ship or starbase feels odd. I’m used to small spaces, and artificial gravity, metal everywhere. Being planetside is so different from being on the station, where there’s several layers of reinforced material between and the vacuum of space. But here, under the sky… there’s just… less and less air as you go up. And then nothing. Open space. Sometimes it just feels so  _ precarious. _ ”

“ _ Life _ is precarious,” Garak countered before he could stop himself.

“Well,  _ yes _ , Elim, that’s true. But that doesn’t make it any less strange. Especially when you take into account things like gravity and relativity. And even hundreds of years after humans discovered the concepts, we’re  _ still _ not completely sure how they work. No one is! We thought, for sure, that when we made First Contact, so many of our questions would be answered. But so few of them were. And we ended up with a whole host more! It turns out in the great big galaxy of travelers and scientists, philosophers and artists,  _ none _ of us really knows what’s going on. Isn’t it just…  _ fantastic?” _

Amused by the change from disbelief to passion, Elim got up on one elbow to watch Julian’s face as he barreled on. 

“I was talking to this Vulcan astrophysicist the other day, and…”

How could anyone find this gentleman anything but utterly fascinating? He was a font of knowledge, a compendium of literature and data and theories, just bursting with information and the desire to share it. And it wasn’t as if he never shut up; he was a good listener, too. Garak never would have given him the time of day much less entire meals for dialogue if it had been any other way. 

Julian continued on, and Garak tried his best to keep up, but at some point his explanations had gone far beyond his comprehension. He nodded and filed away what he could to look up at a later date. 

“Did you know that the rings of Euronia 16 are so dense they cause gravitational disturbances if you get too near? There’s a rumor that a Klingon lost a whole year by flying through them, but of course it’s never been proven. Just passing between two rings would probably tear your ship apart.”

“I hadn’t heard that. In fact, I haven’t heard of Euronia at all. Is there a 1-15 as well?” 

The doctor brightened and sat up to start gesticulating. “Actually, the Euronian sun is in the process of becoming a red giant, so it’s swallowed up the first 7 planets. Although how they knew those even existed in the first place… I didn’t read about that.” He ducked over to the cooler and pulled out a water packet, sucking it down greedily. “I didn’t realize how thirsty I was,” he rasped. “It’s so  _ hot _ out here.”

“We can go back inside if you like, my dear.” If it was up to Garak, they’d stay on the beach all day, but he knew his thick hide was much more adapted to the heat and sun than the human’s, even as dark as it had grown throughout the midday. 

“No, no, it’s fine.” Julian waved a hand and lowered himself back down, this time on his stomach. “I’ll live. Besides, I  _ know _ how much you want this. As hard as I tried down in ore processing, I know I can’t replicate  _ this. _ ”

At the reminder of just how much his husband had spent on the haven and the honeymoon, Garak was hit by twinges of both gratitude and deep affection. He didn’t have the means to return any favors of the same calibur, and it made him want to do something back to show how he felt. For now, he could start small. He dragged the cooler over and moved closer to the supine body. Dabbing his fingers in the condensation around some of the packages, he rubbed it over Julian’s shoulders.

“Mmm. That feels so nice,” the human said appreciatively. “Thank you, love.”

Garak trailed a hand lazily down the curved dip down the center. “You do have such a lovely back,” he murmured.

Julian hummed grumpily. “I barely  _ have _ a back. Just two giant shoulder blades and a spine.”

“But they’re all so shapely,” Garak replied. “When you’re lying down, all the angles and edges smooth out. Paired with the caramel tone of your skin, it looks like dunes in the Nokar desert.”

“Although thankfully not as dry.”

“No, definitely not.” Even as they spoke, beads of sweat had popped out in the lower region, just above his trunks. Garak poured some water over his hand and applied the cooling liquid there, then let his eyes trail lower, past the clothing. “Your legs are rather comely as well. So many of your people have thick fur covering them, but yours has always been so thin and sparse. It makes them look even softer.”

Julian scoffed. “They’re practically twigs. All skin and bones. Barely any muscle at all.”

“There’s  _ plenty _ of muscle,” Garak insisted. “It’s just very lean. What was that term the Chief used to describe you? Ah yes,  _ wiry. _ ” He remembered very well, because the Irishmen’s accent had made the ‘r’ sound almost like a hard ‘l.’ As much Standard as he’d picked up, Garak still relied heavily on the Universal Translator when it came to Miles. He ran his fingers up the back of Julian’s leg, eliciting a few twitches and then a squeak as he passed behind the kneecap. He was tempted to slide his hand up farther, beneath the fabric, and tease the even more sensitive skin there. Instead, he fondly patted the rump above it. “Roll over, dear. Let me see the rest of you.”

Julian complied, but curled an arm over his eyes to block out the sun. Broad of shoulder but trim of waist, he had every bit the ideal Cardassian form. It was a wonder more of Dukat’s officers hadn’t made a move on the doctor. But if they were anywhere as xenophobic as the rest of his race was… well, that left all the more for him. Unable to pick a starting place, he scooted up by Julian’s head to block the sun. The human dropped his arm, and Garak took to playing with his hair. “I must admit your navel is rather intriguing. It looks like an entrance, and yet it isn’t. It’s right about where the chuva would be.”

Julian’s closed eyes crinkled as he made a face. “Well, don’t get any ideas. It’s  _ not _ an entrance, and it’s not an erogenous zone either. Although…”

“Hmm?”

“I suppose I don’t mind having it licked. A little, with just the tip of the tongue.”

That presented an interesting image, and a possible avenue of exploration that evening. “The same could be said of my chuva, although you already knew that.”

One eye opened under a raised eyebrow. “Maybe.”

“Well, I’d be more than happy to give you a repeat lesson. You’ve always proved to be a bright and diligent student.”

“Especially when I have such an exacting and flirtatious tutor.” Garak was about to deny the claim, as he had never considered himself particularly coy, but when he looked back upon how he’d introduced himself, behaved during their numerous lunch dates, how he’d  _ always _ behaved around Julian… well. 

He ran his fingertips over the human’s scalp. “I do enjoy those two little disks on your chest as well. When I touch them, you contort in all sorts of interesting ways, and make the most delicious little sounds.” Even as he mentioned it, they contracted in on themselves and stood up. Something else seemed to be taking notice as well.

“Your body is so responsive, my dear. You would have made either a very formidable or terrible operative. Every twitch and shiver gives you away, but it also means that you’re a veritable feast for the eyes.”

Julian sat up, prompting Garak’s hand to fall away as he propped his elbows on his knees. “I know I’m not, but thank you anyway. If that was a compliment.”

Confused by the change in tone, Garak tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I may hate my body, but I love the way you make me feel in it.”

Garak froze in surprise.

“You… you  _ hate _ your body?”

Julian shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Well, it’s not  _ mine _ , you know? It’s what the genetic engineers gave me. It’s too long and too skinny because of my enhanced metabolism. My nose is too pointy, my hair won’t cooperate without a great deal of product, and my mind never shuts up. How do I even know how much of it is what I was born with and what was altered by the procedures?” He frowned petulantly. “I certainly don’t look much like any of my relatives, so all this--” he gestured defeatedly to his torso, “probably isn’t  _ natural.”  _

At the look on Garak’s face, he put up his hands placatingly. “I know, I know. ‘Natural’ has no real meaning these days. Not with replicated organs and artificial limbs and cosmetic surgeries and all that. But I wasn’t given a choice, alright? This… this body was forced on me. And no matter how much I eat or exercise, it stays the same. Sometimes I just,” he sighed, “feel betrayed by it.” 

Garak wondered how the dear man in front of him, who was so  _ good  _ and  _ supportive _ and  _ understanding  _ of everyone else could be so blind about himself. “Julian.” Internal fever cooling down, he took those slender, expressive, gorgeous hands in his own. “If you can love me, you can love yourself.” The human met his eyes, his own naked with buried pain. “Your body has been put through just as much punishment as you have. It didn’t choose this any more than you did.”

Julian wrinkled his brow. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. He studied the ground. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Look at me.” 

Misty hazel eyes peered into his.

“You need to forgive yourself. This wasn’t your fault. You can’t keep living with that kind of toxic self perception. You have to let go of the anger. The resentment. The pain. Hating yourself will poison you as surely as the implant poisoned me.” Garak kissed each hand. “It’s a hard lesson to learn, I know. But  _ I _ learned it, after you removed the wire. I learned it because of you. I hated my mind for its weakness, and my body for its frailty, but it was caused by the implant. And no matter what Enabran Tain told you, I didn’t have a choice in its placement. If I had turned down such an ‘honor,’ I would have ended up in an unmarked grave, because I already knew too much to be allowed to live otherwise.”

“That’s  _ horrible. _ But Elim. It’s gone now, and so is Tain. You can be normal. I’ll never have that, not unless I go back and have  _ more _ genetic engineering to undo the augmentation.”

Garak recalled a poster from Keiko’s classroom, so many years ago. It had said, “Why be ordinary, when you can be extraordinary _?”  _ He wondered if there was a way he could paraphrase it without sounding trite. But what if that was part of the problem? What if Julian really did want to be ordinary? “Julian, do you regret joining Starfleet?” It was an honest question, one that he was truly curious about the answer to.

“No, of course not.”

“Do you think you would have been able to join it without the changes that were made to you?”

“I don’t  _ know _ . Maybe. With intensive counseling, I might have been--” He cut off.

“Been what?”

“Normal.” He shut his eyes and shook his head resignedly. “I guess I was never normal to begin with.”

Garak could work with this. “You’re different, Julian. It doesn’t make you less or strange. Tell me: what is the basis of Vulcan philosophy?”

“Infinite diversity in infinite combinations,” the human groaned, drooping his head.

He’d tried so many approaches, but he wasn’t sure what else to offer at this point. And yet Julian still looked so despondent. What would Jadzia do? Or Miles or Keiko? He knew from experience that drinking wasn’t always the best solution, so he wracked his brain for other possibilities. He thought about all the couples he’d seen, and how they comforted one another. Dax and Worf, Miles and Keiko, Odo and Kira. Even Ben and Kasidy. The one thing that seemed to be a common theme was their physical proximity. The touches, the hand-holding, the embraces. “Come here, Julian.” He moved onto the towel and extended an arm.

The human curled into him, nuzzling his face into Garak’s chest. “Julian, my love, my treasure, you’re so good. You’re such an amazing person, a talented doctor, a devoted friend.” He rubbed his hand up and down the nearest thigh, and pressed his lips into his scalp.

“That’s a new one,” Julian said quietly. “Your treasure?”

Just the thing he needed. Garak smiled at the horizon. “Yes, my dear. Did you ever notice how I pronounced your name when we first met?”

Julian sniffled and nodded. “Tain said it the same way. Ba-sheer. I think Dukat always said it a little differently, too. I just figured it was a Cardassian thing, like how Ferengi say ‘hew-mon’ for human.”

Garak chuckled. “That’s because ‘hew-mon’ translates to ‘cheap primate’ in Ferengi.” He felt silent laughter tremble into his chest. “And do you know what ba’ssheer means in Kardasi?”

Julian sat up, eyes incredulous. “Really?”

Garak bowed slightly, just as he had so long ago. “Yes. Treasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My 4 chapters of epilogue turned into 5, which isn’t an epilogue anymore, it’s a full ¼ of the story! So I renamed these chapters, and they’re PROBABLY the end. But I think I said that all the way back around chapter 4, so...


	18. Once Upon a Bajor- Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honeymoon part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally part of chapter 17, but it got too long. So now we get to learn about the resort they’re at (and a “happy” ending for a character that got too little screen time), more fluff, and more sexy times.

After their bout of semi-public sex and cathartic discussion, the newly-wedded couple felt decidedly more loosened up, and they spent the rest of the day doing everything they could to make the best of Hotel Pel.

The resort really was spectacular, and spared no expense. It had originally been a Cardassian luxury retreat during the Occupation, but was abandoned after the occupying force returned home. Wanting nothing to do with it, the Bajorans left the property alone for several years.

Along came Pel, a female Ferengi with big plans but no place on her homeworld. She purchased the land for a reasonable sum and set about modifying it to accommodate a dozen different races while still retaining many of the original Cardassian amenities, like basking stones in the courtyard and heating lamps in the suites. A spa was added, as well as three pools: one indoor and two outdoor, one chlorinated and the other with a more natural swamp-like setting, placed some distance from the building. All in all, it became a tourist hot-spot in no time, and visitors from around the quadrant flocked in.

Julian and Garak headed for the courtyard, where they first explored and tested out the various resting areas available. There were the standard lounge chairs and couches, but also large flat stones, low trees, hammocks, sand pits, moss piles, and even something like a puddle pool, only greener. They ended up in the sandpit, where they added a new “ritual” to their growing list of silly traditions that they each kept insisting was native to their culture. Some customs in their collection were mundane (applying scale oil, feeding each other more finger foods), while others were challenges (showering together without touching). But a few activities were outright silly.

Garak tamped the pile of sediments firmly down with both hands while finishing his “explanation.” “So you see, the sand keeps the eggs from cooking in the sun. In order to prove that a mate is proficient at building a nest, he first buries his spouse in the same manner.” He sat back to examine his handiwork, the center of which was mildly scowling at him.

“I didn’t think Cardassians even laid eggs,” Julian remarked drily. He looked down at the lumpy mound where the rest of his body used to be. 

“Have you ever seen one give birth, my dear?”

“No, but it wasn’t mentioned in the resources provided by Belor and Rejal, and they _did_ provide some very extensive medical information for our database.”

“Did you ever consider that their dear Obsidian Order companion might have removed some of the more sensitive particulars?” She hadn’t, but that was besides the point.

Julian huffed. “It’s possible,” he allowed begrudgingly. “Is there any more to this ritual, like the mate cleaning up his spouse _after_ burying them up to the neck?”

“Why, of course. ‘Cleanliness is next to faithfulness to the State,’ as we say.” Garak ignored the scoff and set to work digging the human back out, which took only a few minutes. They wiped off what they could and headed for their room to shower off the rest.

“I’m glad for the time alone, but I bet Kulin would love it here,” Julian commented as they set off. “Maybe we can bring him back some time.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, and I’m positive he’d agree,” Garak replied, ignoring for the time being the fact that the war would probably push that far into the future. “And we could stop by the home as well, to let him visit with his friends.”

Julian hugged him, laughing at the face the Cardassian made as his clothes were coated in sand. “I bet he’d love that. How do you think he’s doing with Jake and Nog? It was awfully nice of Ben to modify his probation to allow him to stay in their quarters.”

The captain did have a soft spot for family and marital affairs, Garak had noticed. “I’m sure they’re having a grand time, and probably bringing down the station along the way. We may come home to find Quark’s bar painted blue, or a new shop open on the promenade, selling everything from self-sealing stembolts to faux tribbles.”

“I could actually see that happening. Imagine the three of them going into business together.”

They spent the rest of the trip to the room debating which boy would run which aspects of the shop and how successful the venture would be. After the shower, their conversation veered briefly into Ferengi capitalism and a few of Julian’s investments, but it came to a halt when they entered the dining area of Hotel Pel’s finest restaurant.

The room was dimmed to comfortable Cardassian levels, the walls a deep burgundy, making it appear like a warm underground cavern. Claw-like arcs graced the walls and separated booths, and plants with leaves that were such a dark green they were nearly black were nestled in alcoves around the room. Each table had its own little flickering lamp that danced over the platters and diners.

The meal passed in a way that felt both swift and unhurried; their pace was languid and conversation long-winded, yet they were both surprised when the sunset glowed directly through the windows and over their table. Julian squinted at the angle of light shining into his face, then smiled. He slid out of his side of the booth to join Garak on his own plush seat. Side by side, he squeezed Garak’s knee under the table while openly studying the other diners. “Everyone here looks so young and fresh. I don’t know whether to feel like a kid on a first date or like an old fogey trying to recapture my youth.”

Garak shook his head in mock disagreement. “I don’t see much difference between them and you, my dear. You all look just past the age of emergence to me. Barely old enough to hold a respected position in society, much less be put into a position of authority.” He waited for the resulting bristle, and wasn’t disappointed.

“You mean like being made the Chief Medical Officer of Deep Space Nine?” Julian asked archly.

“ _Precisely_. Barely out of medical school and with no formal training on management or command. It’s a wonder you’ve kept us afloat this long.” Oh, that should rile him up. A nice rousing quarrel to stir the pulse before they retired for the evening.

Indignant, Julian scooted away to throw his hands up. “Are you implying that I’m incompetent enough to somehow drag an entire space station _out_ of space and crashing into a planet?” His voice sounded outraged, but there was a sparkle to his eyes.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, dear,” Garak volleyed back. “I’m simply stating that a _Cardassian_ would never put someone so… _inexperienced_ in your place.”

“Elim, I’m thirty-three years old! Hardly a child.”

“But that makes you, what? Not even a quarter of the way through a Human lifespan. I’d say that still qualifies as young.”

“If that’s your metric, then for a Cardassian, so are you.” Julian smiled smugly. “And look at all the responsibilities _you_ were given.”

Garak paused in consternation. Being around Bajorans and Federation races, he’d begun to measure his life by their standards. But his husband was technically correct. Exile and the ordeal with the implant had made him feel prematurely ancient, but… his race regularly lived to 200 or more. On Cardassia, it’d be perfectly normal for him to be just settling down at this age. Getting married, starting a family. Maybe even changing careers.

He was… he was doing everything right?

Julian stared at him shrewdly, looking much more mature than when they’d first met. “That never occurred to you?”

“No, my dear, it did not. And thank you for that.”

They smiled almost timidly at each other as the energy of the barely-formed argument between them dissipated. Julian laid a hand on Garak’s. “It looks like we both have a bit to learn, and maybe unlearn. But Elim, there’s no one I’d rather discover myself with than you.” He gave a quick squeeze.

Garak considered that the perfect segue into a new segment of the evening. He canted his head and blinked flirtatiously. “Shall we continue helping each other make more personal discoveries? I, for one, am suddenly feeling far more youthful than I have in years. Perhaps we can see if that extends to my... flexibility and stamina.”

Julian’s jaw dropped as his eyes lit up. “Abso _lute_ ly.”

The dinner was already part of their honeymoon package, so they simply left the table as it was and returned to their room. As soon as they were in the door, Julian pounced. He dragged Garak over to the bed and pulled him down into an enthusiastic embrace. “Mm. I want tonight to be special,” he mumbled between kisses. “I had a couple ideas. What about you?”

Garak honestly hasn’t given it much thought. Sex was sex, and they’d done more of it lately than he’d had in all the years of the past decade put together. “Whatever pleases you will please me,” he responded with complete honesty.

Julian pulled back. “Seriously? Well, there was one thing I wanted to try but…” His eyes darted around the room. “But I’m not sure how possible it is. I might need to…” He twisted his mouth in thought. “Can you give me a couple minutes?”

How possible? What in the stars would a doctor be wondering about that might not even be possible? Garak swallowed nervously, not sure whether to be enticed or apprehensive. He steeled himself and pulled what he hoped was a convincing mask over his face. “Take your time, my dear.”

The human’s eyes lit up, and he slid off the bed. He started stalking around the room, analyzing the bed first, then the carpet around it. Then the seats, the settee, even the dining chairs. He disappeared into the refresher and popped back out again, brow furrowed. Returning to the bed, he cocked his head so far to one side that his torso followed. “Could you… could you sit at the edge of the bed, Elim?”

Somewhat amused now, Garak complied. Head still tilted, he studied the Cardassian’s legs, his feet on the floor. He shifted his own legs, pivoted on one toe, and made an odd loop. Garak had not the faintest clue what was going on.

“Hm. Could you… scoot to the very edge?”

He did, while Julian dragged a chair over directly across from him and sat in it. But he wasn’t quite finished yet. He lifted one leg up onto the bed, then set it back down. To Garak’s consternation, he moved to his knees on the floor but put his elbows on the seat, his back to the bed. “No, that won’t work,” he muttered to himself. He stood up again and patted his legs in contemplation, then walked around to the side of the bed. “Um, could you turn away for a moment? I, ah, want to try something.”

It was obvious now that Julian was attempting to set up some sort of acrobatic configuration. He must have taken Garak’s comment about flexibility much more seriously than anticipated. Intriguing. “For what, may I enquire?”

“Could you just not look? If it works, then I’ll let you know. And if not, then… just forget about it.”

The human appeared almost alarmingly embarrassed. Garak was more than curious now. Just what was being planned? “If you insist,” he demurred, turning his head. Unfortunately, Caardassian ridges made for poor peripheral vision, so he couldn’t steal a glance out of the corner of his eye. However, if he casually readjusted his position, he could catch what was happening in a mirror across the room. Oh dear. He watched as Julian squatted with his back to the bed, then lifted his feet up onto it while balancing his hands on the floor. The bed dipped behind Garak as he stretched his legs out and spread them, glancing back. 

Garak was beginning to develop an inkling about what was going on. Especially when Julian glanced down and palmed himself, raising his rear in the air. It was getting harder and harder not to laugh.

Julian made a frustrated noise and returned to his chair. But rather than sit in it, he stroked his chin and studied Garak. “Could you put your legs up, across to the other seat?” Restraining a smile, the tailor did so. He leaned back on his hands, trying to picture what he thought was going on inside Julian’s head. The idea did have some appeal. But it probably wouldn’t be physically attainable. If Julian was orchestrating what he suspected, the maneuver would be almost laughingly simple between two Cardassians on any flat surface. But next to impossible for humans, except for a few extremely limber ones. As for a mixed pair… 

“My dear. What you’re planning. While no doubt symbolic, a ‘joining of equals,’ as it were, it may not be entirely feasible, much less comfortable or romantic.” Despite Julian’s behavior over the past fifteen minutes, his lover covered his nose and mouth in embarrassment. “And unless I’m mistaken, you _would_ like for this evening to be more _intimate_ than erotic.”

Julian plopped gracelessly down onto the bed. He kept his eyes averted. “You figured it out?”

Garak patted his leg in what he hoped was reassurance and not condescension. “Yes. And perhaps, after a night in which we become inadvisably inebriated, we can give that a try, hmm?”

One corner of Julian’s mouth lifted. “So tomorrow, then.”

How many kanars would that require? “We might need some Romulan ale.” 

They linked hands and smiled at each other in good-humored fondness. After a beat or two of silence, Garak made a decision. “I may have an idea after all. If you don’t mind going out for a walk, I will make a few preparations.” He’d planned on saving this for the last night of their week together, but he had a feeling Julian would appreciate it now.

“A walk on the beach at night? You don’t have to ask twice. How long, love?”

A few calls, time for delivery and display… “At least 45 minutes. An hour, just to be sure.”

Julian raised his eyebrows. “That’s some preparations. Maybe I’ll bring something with me to read”

“As you wish.”

The moment his husband was out the patio door, Garak started placing calls and orders. The hotel carried everything he needed, so it was really just a matter of impressing the importance of timeliness. Luckily, he had an in with the proprietor. He’d been instrumental in manufacturing Pel’s wardrobe upon Deep Space Nine, had in fact been the only one aware of what she was hiding beneath it. In return, she came through for him with flying colors, and items began arriving no later than 15 minutes after his contact.

Black, white, and cream-colored candles of various heights and width were delivered first. Garak arranged them artfully in small clusters around the room. Soon after were the flowers. He knew that humans had a centuries-old tradition of equating red roses with romance, and Bajoran _flinder_ were available and remarkably similar, up to the thorny stems. Several bouquets of deep red blooms in crystal vases were set upon shelves and wardrobes. 

Last of all were the most expensive items: Cardassian etched glass bowls with stems. Garak placed them next to the piles of candles and filled them with water, lighting each and every taper and pillar along the way. He ordered the overhead illumination to shut off, and the room filled with a sparkling glow as the decorative bowls scattered candlelight across the walls and ceiling. 

Garak took a minute to admire the ambience. It was undoubtedly some of this best work outside of tailoring. He might have to take a holovid of it to save for future use. He hoped Julian would be impressed.

With at least ten minutes to spare, he straightened up the bed and made sure appropriate supplies were within reach of it. All that remained to adjust was his own person, and that was already nearly immaculate from their dinner date. A quick stop by the mirror verified that he had no loose scales, his hair was in place, and his tunic was settled evenly around his shoulders. He ran his hands down it anyway, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles but relaxing with the familiar gesture.

A quick check from the patio confirmed that Julian was ambling back, a few hundred meters away. He cut such an arresting figure: pale clothing on dusky skin, long limbs that were graceful when relaxed, a smooth gait that carried him quickly over the sands. 

Garak envied his composure, wishing that his own was just as steady. He’d put off thinking about what they’d be doing next, but it was unavoidable now. He _knew_ … He knew what he wanted to do. He understood Julian wanting to make a symbolic gesture, and this was going to be one of his own. As someone who spoke in riddle and obfuscation, a clear declaration of intention--much less affection--was nearly beyond him. But he could demonstrate with action. He may not have the words to say what he was feeling, may not own the latinum to buy outrageous presents… but there was one thing he could give freely, and that was himself.

Garak left the patio door open to the night air and sank down just inside it to sit on his heels, hands on his thighs. He watched his lover approach, struck all over again with awe at his appearance, and such a divine creature being all his own. 

Julian had unbuttoned the top half of his shirt so that it hung open, revealing his angular but smooth chest. His hair was tousled from the ocean breeze, and a shadow was appearing along his jaw. There was sand on his bare feet, which peeked out from under the rolled cuffs of his slacks. It lent a rakish, roguish air to his aura, and Garak’s mouth watered at the sight.

Julian drew nearer until his figure was just barely illuminated by the glow from their room, and his eyes locked on Garak as soon as he found him. He washed his feet and hands quickly but thoroughly in the outdoor fountain, his gaze drawn back repeatedly to the man seated and waiting for him. Finished, he approached the entry. His gaze barely skimmed the darkened room, choosing instead to alight on Garak. A frisson of something powerful passed between them, and the tailor knew that the human deciphered exactly what was going down without having to be told. Julian’s spine straightened and his shoulders squared, even as his eyes darkened and breathing deepened. 

He nodded and slipped past Garak into the refresher to reappear a moment later with a tumbler of water. Lowering to one knee, he took a deep draught and offered it. “Drink this.” Even riding the rising tide of pressure building between them, the concern on his face was evident until the refreshment was accepted and consumed. He smiled warmly and brushed a hand over Garak’s shoulder, then stood to return the glass. 

This time when he returned, Julian held out a hand. Garak took it, allowing himself to be raised. The human took his other hand and raised them both until they were palm to palm. No other part of their bodies touched, yet it felt like fire burned between them. Julian slipped his fingers to the side, slotting his between Garak’s and curling them down. The shadows of the room tightened around them into complete darkness as his eyes fluttered shut, and a soft kiss brushed over his lips, then trailed along his aural ridge. “I love you, Elim,” whispered a voice in his ear. 

The hands entwined with his gave a little nudge, and Garak felt himself walked backwards slowly across the room until his legs met the bed. But rather than be pushed down, one of his hands was released so that Julian could cup his jaw and lean in for a kiss. Their lips molded together with familiar precision, and Garak drank it in with relish. He felt warm, enfolded, and adored. Julian would take care of him, he was certain of it.

They sank down over the covers as their kiss deepened, guiding each other up the bed until Garak was on his back and his head and shoulders were pressed deep into a pile of pillows. Julian’s nimble surgeon’s hands caressed over his chest, his shoulders and arms. “Take off your shirt,” he prompted, sitting back to make space. Garak undid the fastening on the front and slipped it off like a jacket, meeting Julian’s stare the whole time. The doctor took the garment and held it over the side of the bed, letting it drop carelessly onto the floor. “Now take off mine.” Garak tugged the silky fabric from where it was tucked into the waistband and deftly unbuttoned it before it was shucked off and tossed aside in much the same manner as his tunic.

Julian’s eyes raked down his body possessively, humming in appreciation. Garak took his own fill. The doctor moved backward and took Garak’s slacks and undergarment with him, revealing patterned hips, thighs, knees, calves. Once he reached the foot of the bed he removed everything completely, socks included. The thermal leggings were set aside, everything else discarded unceremoniously out of sight. Julian’s trousers and briefs joined the pile on the floor before he climbed back up, leggings trailing from one hand. 

Garak watched with interest. The scrap of clothing hadn’t escaped his notice. The thin, black material looked like a rope, and his back prickled at the thought of what use his lover might have for it. He didn’t have long to wonder.

Playing with the item in his hands, Julian returned to his position over Garak. He wrapped one end around his wrist and stretched the remaining length with his other hand, testing it out. Satisfied, he peered down. “What would you like me to do, Elim?” he asked, his eyes hypnotic and voice huskier than usual.

Garak donned his best suggestive expression. “Tonight, I leave myself under your capable command. Take your fill. I won’t always be this submissive, my dear, so I advise taking advantage of the opportunity while it presents itself.”

Julian didn’t respond aloud, but there were subtle responses to one who knew how to read him. A brief widening of the eyes followed by a slow dip of the head, lips parted a hairsbreadth apart as his respiration increased. Garak waited patiently while he processed the information. With a minute nod, the human scooted forward until his legs were hugging Garak’s chest. “Raise your hands, please.”

Heart thudding, Garak did as requested. He’d been restrained very few times in his life, and none of those instances had involved a bed or any sort of sexual situation. Only a captor who thought they could garner information from an agent, and never one who survived the encounter. But here, with Julian, the concept of surrender was infinitely more acceptable. Desirable, even. Garak’s wrists were quickly and deftly bound, the leggings wound around some device over the bed likely set there for these very reasons. The hold was tight but not painful, restrictive but not impossible to escape. 

“Is this alright with you, Elim?” Julian’s hooded eyes held passion and promise, but also his patented love and concern as well. When Garak nodded assent, the corners of his eyes crinkled happily. “Would you like to select your own safeword, or shall I appoint one to you?”

Garak had never heard the term before, but he could decipher the meaning readily enough. As for choosing one, though, he hadn’t the faintest clue. “You choose. But nothing embarrassing, if you please.”

Julian stroked his hair. “Of course not. How about…” his eyes searched the ceiling. “Pylon. It’s not something that ever comes up in our discussions. But it’s short and easy to say.”

Interesting. Perhaps they could discuss this concept in further detail some day. “Pylon is acceptable,” Garak responded.

Julian rested a hand on his chest. “I don’t really intend to do anything rough, just so you know. But in case you decide you want your hands back, or if you change your mind, just say the word, okay?”

Garak kept a serious face, lest he betray his amusement. He doubted Julian could ever do anything that he would find unpalatable. “I will do so,” he promised. “And for the record, I don’t mind our interactions being a little… more _forceful_ than what we’ve done so far. Although I don’t believe that’s something you would wish to pursue tonight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Julian answered. “And you’re correct. I want tonight to be special. Not that-- Not that _that_ wouldn’t be special, too, like everything we do. It’s just-” He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. “Bugger. Let me start again.” He narrowed his gaze in an endearing attempt at dominance. “Now close your eyes.”

Garak did. Much of the sexual tension between them had dissipated, but he had every confidence they could work their way back easily enough. He relaxed his muscles and gave in to letting Julian make the opening overtures.

A hand tucked itself under his neck, cradling his head. Warm breath played over his mouth before soft and hot lips brushed over him, once, twice, before sucking gently. He remained still, enjoying the tingles and heat suffusing his face. Julian sank into the kiss, his whole body molding over Garak as they fell back into their rhythm. They opened at the same time and let their tongues taste and explore while the rest of them began making other plans.

One of Julian’s hands pinched in a circular kneading pattern up Garak’s neck, something he’d never done before but had miraculous effects on the Cardassian’s anatomy. Garak could feel the fingertips squeezing and almost pulling at each scute along the ridge. His insides stirred, need coalescing under his skin and making a southward swoop between his legs. He didn’t know where Julian had learned such a thing, but he couldn’t deny its efficacy.

Garak tried wrapping an arm around his husband’s waist to draw him in, only to realize that his restaurants made no such action possible. How strange. He was going to have to remain passive for much of this, and while the idea of letting Julian do as he pleased was extremely appealing, he found himself wondering just what _he_ was supposed to do in return.

“You’re thinking too hard, Elim,” Julian chuckled. “You look so perplexed. Just relax and let me do everything. That _is_ what you planned for, wasn’t it?”

Yes, that was true. The whole point of this was to relinquish control. For his body to be a gift. The thought comforted him, reminded him that his ultimate goal was to make Julian happy. Keeping his eyes shut, he smiled. “I’m yours, my treasure.”

Julian hummed. “I think that for now, you’re _my_ treasure. The only question is… what I plan to do with it.” 

“Do whatever you desire. Whatever feels good to you.”

“Mm. But what makes _you_ feel good makes _me_ feel good.”

Garak was beginning to see why so few of his lovers had complained. Julian’s selflessness truly seemed to know no bounds. But perhaps he still needed a little… nudge. “If you have a favorite location on my body, I would recommend beginning there. Or ending there.”

Julian made a thoughtful noise. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Although I do have _more_ than one favorite spot. So.” He inched upward until his head was over Garak’s. A flare of radiant energy filled the Cardassian’s chufa. “We’ll begin _here_.” Cheek braced by an insanely soft hand, Garak’s entire forehead transmuted into a stone under midday sun when Julian pressed a tight kiss into the central dip of his crest. “I love your mind, Elim Garak,” he intoned fondly. “Your twisting, mysterious, philosophical mind.”

Tender flutters danced down Garak’s nose, then to his lips, his chin, and throat. Another firmer kiss to his chula. A nuzzle. “I love your soul, Elim Garak.” It felt like a small star had settled into his chest under Julian’s face. “You have the soul of both a warrior and a poet. And yet it’s not even a contradiction, because you fight for what you love.”

Unable to formulate a response, Garak clenched his jaw. It felt so beautiful it almost hurt.

Julian’s mouth left a fiery trail downward until stopping at its next destination. “I love your body, Elim Garak. Every scale, every ridge, every strand of your perfect hair. But especially your eyes. Look at me, Elim.”

Garak did. Julian was hunched over between his legs, head bowed, shadows rippling over his skin. Their eyes met and held as he lowered down and dipped his tongue into the divot of Garak’s chuva. The tailor curled his toes and dug his nails into his palms as heat filled his ajan and tingles raced down his back. Overcome, he turned his head away from the debauched sight.

Outside, the black night sky was speckled with swirling gold and silver. It took him a moment to realize it had started raining, that he was seeing the candlelight refracted in drops coursing down the windows. His ears then registered the accompanying white noise from the patio. They’d left the door open.

Garak knew 39 of the Ferengi’s 178 words for rainfall; the whisper of precipitation out there seemed to be _shishing_. An apt description.

If he had to name the sensation to his own body, it would be _fe’yural:_ the concentrated dribble of water from a corner eave into a deep puddle. His muscles grew taut as wave after wave rolled outward from the point of contact where Julian’s mouth met his chuva. And then when the human moved downward, and the tip of his tongue slipped inward, taking the tiniest taste of Garak’s slit… He breathed in sharply and let it out with a hiss. 

A chuckle blew hot air into his groin. “Feel good?”

“Exceedingly so.”

“Do you think you can-”

The console warbled. _ <Priority message from Deep Space Nine. Do you accept?> _

Julian sprang up. He gawked at the desk, then turned to Garak with wide eyes. “Um, yes?”

 _ <Dr. Bashir. Doctor, where are you?> _Captain Sisko’s rumbling voice was unmistakable. 

Despite not being in view of the camera, Julian covered his crotch with one hand. “Ah, just a minute Cap’n. Be right there.” Garak gratefully watched him unfasten his wrists and dash away for a fluffy white robe, then followed more slowly to get his own. But he could still hear the exchange.

“I’m right here, Captain,” the doctor stated unnecessarily as he stood in front of the screen and tied his belt. “What’s the problem? Is everyone alright?”

Garak joined him. The darker human looked grim, his eyelids low and mouth pulled down in a frown.

_ <We have a situation that requires your immediate attention.> _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-dun! I bet you can’t predict what’s coming next. I’m 99.999% certain. There WILL be angst, but it’ll be surrounded by love.  
> Also, how do I keep turning kinky stuff into mush?  
> EDIT: I forgot that this fic is kind of my journal. The actual reason for Sisko's interruption was that I wasn't in the headspace to continue their encounter. My original plan had been to have him call while they were reading after sex.


	19. The Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kulin has been hiding a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said a couple months ago, I had this terribly evil idea, and loved it so much that I couldn’t stop writing it.  
> Who's ready for FEELINGS?
> 
> CW: dissociating, small panic attack, mention of child abuse

Garak warily observed the distraught boy pacing back and forth on the other side of the airlock. Boy? Young man? He hesitated, attempting to assess how much of it was genuine and how much an act. 

Julian displayed no such reservations. He hurried through before the seal finished rolling back, and opened his arms. Kulin dove in, ducking his head and practically bowling the human over with a bear hug. Julian squeezed a shoulder and kissed him on the scalp, muttering something low that was probably supportive and calming.

Garak supposed that should have been expected. A man who would forgive toruture, murder, and attempted genocide certainly wouldn’t fault a boy for… for this.

Jake and Nog observed warily from a distance, anxiety written on their faces, shifting back and forth from foot to foot while darting glances at each other and avoiding Garak’s gaze.

Julian and Kulin rocked together for a minute before turning in his direction. Julian’s face was carefully neutral, but Kulin’s dissolved into tears. 

There was no denying it; his despair was not feigned. The aching shame and preparation for rejection hunched his shoulders and marred his ordinarily carefree expression as he stepped away to face his second father head on. “I’m sorry that I lied to you,” Kulin said to the worn carpet on the floor.

Garak finally approached him, and gingerly reached out. “Your deception was… understandable, given the circumstances. Although I would have preferred honesty from the start.”

Julian moved closer. “I wish you had trusted us enough to tell us everything. It’s been almost 2 months now, and you still didn’t feel comfortable sharing this?” He made a frustrated noise. “How old _are_ you?”

“14.”

Garak glanced up and down the promenade, noticing how pedestrians were giving them a wide berth but still gawking as they passed. He motioned to Jake and Nog. The human gulped, and the Ferengi’s eyes widened in fear. “Thank you, you two, for staying with Kulin until our arrival. Go on home for now, and we can talk about this later.” _Specifically about just how much you knew._ But instead of rushing off, they strolled away slowly, throwing uneasy looks behind at their friend. 

Garak addressed his husband and son. “Maybe we should relocate to the infirmary. This situation is no one’s business but our own.” They turned to the right and set off. “I suppose this explains why you’ve seemed so bright for your age, and get along so well with Mister Sisko and Ensign Nog.”

“Yes, sir,” Kulin answered miserably.

“To be fair,” Julian cut in, “you _are_ still several years younger than them. I remain impressed. You’re incredibly talented and bright no matter how you look at it. Maybe that’s part of--what’s her name?”

“Jezzehris. She goes by Jezzie.”

“Maybe that’s part of what Jezzie sees in you. Is she- Do you think-?” He pressed his lips together, perplexed. “Were you, ah, in a relationship before… before this?”

They stopped in front of the infirmary, all three of them suddenly reluctant to enter and face this new hurdle.

Kulin crossed his right arm over his chest, squeezing his left in what looked to be a painful grip. “We were… good friends. We just…” He shrugged. “She came from a bad family. I didn’t have a family. We would both go out wandering in the fields and woods, and started to meet up. We were both lonely, and we talked a lot. About everything. And… she liked me. She understood me.” He stared blankly at the entrance, hands clenching and unclenching. 

Garak needed more information. “How did she find you here? Did you inform her where you were headed when we left Bajor?”

“Mm-hm. I told her I would call her and check up on how things were going.”

Julian beat him to the next question. “So you knew that she was pregnant?”

Kulin stole a glance in the main room, then dropped his head. “Yes.”

“And you’re certain the baby is yours?” Garak ignored the stern glare from Julian. They didn’t know anything about this Jezzie; it was a valid question.

The boy raised his face incredulously. “Yes! There isn’t anyone else it could have been. Besides, as soon as she was born they ran a blood screening. The DNA is a match.”

Julian put a gentle arm around him. “It’s a girl?” he asked softly. “What’s her name?”

“Littabet. Jezzie named her after a character in a fireside tale. She- We’re calling her Litta.”

“That sounds lovely,” Julian responded. “Shall we go in and see them?”

Both faces swiveled to Garak. Surprised to be designated the dominant member of the trio, then surprised that he was surprised, the tailor nodded. He didn’t see much choice in the matter.

The three of them passed through the main space and into a private room. Garak watched with both gratitude and dismay at how Kulin grasped Julian’s hand for reassurance before approaching the bed. He knew that the young doctor was the more gentle parental figure and therefore the one a young person would turn to for comfort, but it still stung a little.

Jezzehris was awake and propped up against a pile of pillows in the bed. She appeared about Kulin’s size and age and was fully Bajoran, with beige skin only a shade paler than Julian’s. Her long, dark hair was the color of Delavian chocolate, her eyes cinnamon. They grew larger at the sight of her visitors, and she clutched the quiet bundle in her arms closer to her chest. Garak had seen the gesture a hundred times, the parent or older sibling protecting a defenseless youngling, an instinct as old as time itself. He understood it better now, having Kulin under his guard. At least the girl had some sort of sense about her.

Julian introduced himself, then Garak, as Kulin’s parents. Jezzie nodded timidly to them as the human started poking at the console to pull up her files. “Captain Sisko said you had a rough time of it in the beginning, stowing away in a freighter through the first contractions. But it looks like the birth itself went well. At least, once you got onto the station.” He eyed Garak steadily. “A live birth, too. No eggs.” 

The two younger members of the room regarded him with confusion. 

“Anyway, according to what I see here, the two of you are doing just fine. Everything is reading as normal. You should be ready to go ho-” Julian cut himself off. “Um.” He swallowed and looked around the room. “Well, for now you can stay here so we can keep an eye on things. We don’t actually have a lot of data on Cardassian-Bajoran hybrids, much less on children who are three quarters Bajoran and one quarter Cardassian. Maybe…”

Garak lost focus on what his husband was saying as his mind latched onto the statement about Jezzie going home. She’d run away, so to speak, to Deep Space Nine in order to get away from her home. Surely the best thing would be for her not to return. But there was no way she could come stay with them, not with their current lodgings. They only had two bedrooms. There just wasn't space for another teenager _and_ a baby. A baby, by the Blind Moon! None of them could afford to add that to their schedule. Not the feedings and changings, the late night wakeups, the constant crying, the… whatever else came with adding a helpless infant to your household.

How had he misjudged Kulin so completely? He hadn’t even expected the boy to be sexually active, much less capable of fathering a child. And the fact that he’d been able to hide it was concerning as well. Paired with Julian’s ability to mask his augmented brain from detection for so many years, Garak really _was_ letting sentiment get in the way of his… his what? It wasn’t as if he was an agent of the Order any more. 

But it still felt like he was slipping.

What bothered him even more was this new unknown entity. Two of them, really. Two strangers that he was somehow linked to in a way that was completely out of his control. Would they depend on him? Require his protection? Bring a new level of chaos into the life he’d been so carefully cultivating with Julian and Kulin, just barely settling into?

Garak’s chest started to thud. No, Jezzehris and Littabet would have to go back. The orphanage could help them, surely. Or government programs. Perhaps the local temple of the Prophets. Because there was absolutely no way--

Julian appeared in front of him and held the baby out. Where had they come from? How long had Garak been lost in thought? “Here, can you hold her for a minute? A new patient just came in, and the nurse is busy. I’ll be right back.”

Before the tailor knew what was happening, a warm, tight roll of blankets was deposited in his arms. A slumbering angelic face peeped out. Out of instinct more than anything else, he drew the bundle closer. What now? Was he supposed to rock his arms? Jounce it? Sway? Stay standing up or sit down? 

At least she wasn’t awake, so he didn’t have to worry about a bottle. Or possibly frightening her.

Garak turned to Kulin and Jezzie for assistance, only to find them both fast asleep, the girl collapsed back in her pile of pillows and the boy on a chair next to the bed with his head and an arm on the mattress next to her. They looked careworn and exhausted.

How long had Garak been trapped in his head?

And Julian? His husband was now in the other room, patiently dealing with a hacking Bolian who stubbornly insisted that he wasn’t sick.

A faint smacking noise drew Garak’s attention. Littabet was opening and closing her mouth as if nursing in her dreams. She stopped and let out the tiniest sigh he’d ever heard. The whisper of breath he caught smelled unique, unlike anything he’d come across before. On an impulse, he lifted her up to take in the faint scent. He didn’t actually know how Cardassian or Bajoran babies were supposed to smell, but this one was sweet and dry, like honey and mineral powder. 

A gentle swell of tenderness swept through Garak, unclenching his shoulders and back. He’d never held a baby before. It was light and surprisingly easy to handle, swaddled as it was in the infirmary blanket. So small. Delicate yet robust, in the way that only a tiny humanoid can be.

Untensing bit by bit, Garak located the second chair and lowered himself into it, cautiously intrigued. Littabet was undisturbed by his movements, so he readjusted her into a more comfortable position and took to studying her face. 

It was the same color as her mother’s, with a smooth chin and cheeks. Like humans and both of her parents, she had shell-shaped ears, free of ridges and scales. Her head was covered in a fine, downy fuzz that was clearly mammalian, but of a nondescript color for the time being. She had no fuzzy eyebrows, just faint ridges that traced in an arc over and around her eyes, a hint of her one-quarter Cardassian lineage. 

Garak was struck by the notion that Litta was undoubtedly the most beautiful infant he had ever seen.

He involuntarily lifted the baby again, tucking his nose against the side of her head to draw in another deep breath. The incredible sense of peace and well-being suffused him again. It was as if her scent had a calming effect. Or tranquilizing, a more paranoid section of his brain warned. Warily, he set her down on his legs, settled into the crease of his lap to face him. Well, she didn’t _look_ dangerous.

The doctor wandered back in and headed to the sanitizing station.

“Julian, my dear, what is that? Every time I smell the baby, it makes me feel…” he wasn’t sure how to express exactly what it was.

Julian flashed a grin over his shoulder as he cleaned up. “Happy? Content? Serene? Not a surprise. In humans, the scent of a newborn baby triggers a release of the neurotransmitter dopamine. It’s connected to the reward center of our brain. I imagine it’s similar in other humanoids. I could check to be sure, but I bet there’s a Cardassian analog that you’re picking up on.”

Garak studied the tiny being in his lap with a mixture of reassurance and alarm. “Is it habit-forming?”

Finished, Julian ambled over to them. “Well, dopamine _is_ related to addiction. Now that I think about it, you did have some neurochemicals plummet during your withdrawal from the implant, and dopamine was one of them.” He leaned a hip against the chair. “But don’t worry. This particular scent wears off in a few days. Not enough time to get dependent. Then you’ll just have to go back to smelling _me_ again for a pick-me-up.”

“You know about that?”

“Mmm. It’s one of my favorite parts of the morning.” Julian perched on the arm of the seat and dropped his own arm around Garak’s shoulders. “She’s really something isn’t she? Hello there, Little Bit.”

“That’s not her name.”

“I know. But it sounds almost the same. And she _is_ just a tiny thing.” He leaned over the baby. “Hello there, sweet one. You’re just so precious, aren’t you?”

Garak thought he seemed a little silly, talking to a sleeping child. “She can’t hear you.”

But as if Litta had sensed the man murmuring endearments to her or just wanted to prove Garak wrong, her little eyelids fluttered, then opened. She made a squeak that sounded like an inquisitive cough or gag, then opened her eyes fully. Like her mother, they were a warm brown. Her hands jerked and face twitched, and then she began to mewl. It was high and thin, and so sweet and yearning that Garak felt a sympathetic twinge deep inside. 

Julian cooed. “Oh, poor thing, she’s hungry. Let’s get her to her mother.”

Jezzie was already blinking awake at the sound of her baby’s wail. She shifted upward, padding her back with pillows, and held her arms out. Julian scooped the load up from Garak’s lap and delivered the bundle, leaving the tailor’s empty legs suddenly bereft and cold. 

Feeling unusually affectionate (and chilly), as soon as Julian returned, Garak pulled him down onto his lap. His husband laughed good-naturedly and settled in, curling around a shoulder and burrowing his face in Garak’s hair. The frigid air of the infirmary seeped away, slowly replaced by one hundred percent mammalian warmth.

Garak closed his eyes for a few moments and just listened, something he hadn’t found the time to do lately. There was a shuffling of the sheets from Jezzie, a soft conversation in the other room. Julian let out a satisfied little hum and sigh. A soft snore signaled that he’d drowsed off. 

In the background, Litta uttered confused little whimpers until she was pacified, and Jezzie and Kulin murmured back and forth quietly. Garak couldn’t tell what they were saying, but it sounded somber. He felt a brief flash of pride that at least the boy was accepting the consequences of his actions and not shirking his responsibilities. 

He rested his head against Julian’s chest. Some distant voice told him that he ought to be unpacking from the abbreviated honeymoon… or maybe having a serious conversation with any or all of the members of the room... but the newfound sense of _something_ left him feeling peaceful and unhurried. 

It could also have been his lack of sleep from the night before.

The temporary tranquility was interrupted by the arrival of a new visitor. Major Kira’s voice joined the nurses up front, and seconds later she marched into their room. 

“Julian. I just got the strangest call. When I told Captain Sisko about it, he said to come see you right away. I didn’t even know you were back already. And-” She stopped up short and took in the domestic scene: Julian snuffling awake in Garak’s lap, Kulin hovering over Jezzie and Litta in the hospital bed. “ _Fek_ ,” she cursed uncharacteristically. 

Garak tried to sit up and push the doctor off, but Julian refused to budge. He did, however, straighten up to face the stunned Bajoran officer. “What happened? What call?” His jaw dropped with a noisy yawn as his hands reached for the ceiling in a stretch.

Skirting the bed, Kira moved up close to the husbands and spoke in a hushed voice. “Bajor put through a message from some parents looking for a missing child. They found a letter saying that she’d run off to Deep Space Nine.” She crossed her arms. “It… wasn’t a pleasant message. The man and woman looked… dirty. Rough. Like they’d fallen on hard times. And they weren’t kind either. They demanded the girl’s return and used some pretty strong language, especially in referring to the people on this station.” She bent over and lowered her tone even more. “They said they were looking for their ‘fat slob of a daughter.’” She turned to take a look at the girl in the bed. “They didn’t know she was pregnant, did they?”

Garak nearly growled. “I would assume not.”

The three of them watched Kulin and Jezzie talk, the boy standing again and nervously swaying on his feet, the girl focusing most of her attention on feeding the baby, although her eyes flicked over to the three adults who had gone silent.

They looked away.

Kira straightened up and adjusted her uniform. “Well, I didn’t know about all this at the time. I called back and said that no one by that description had shown up here, but that we’d keep our eyes open and get back to them.” She frowned. “I don’t like the bruises I saw on her arms.”

Garak glanced back quickly. He’d first assumed they were caused by Jezzie’s escape, perhaps hiding between crates or falling during the difficult first half of her labor, but now that he’d learned of her parents, he wasn’t so certain.

Nurse Jabara leaned into the room, her nose wrinkled even more than usual. “Is there a party going on in here?” She narrowed her eyes sternly at Julian. “Is it really necessary to have so many visitors in the infirmary, Doctor Bashir? If you were on duty right now, you’d have sent most of them packing on their way.”

Despite being her superior and off duty, Julian sprang to his feet at being addressed. “Quite right. I’m sorry. We’ll clear out in just a few minutes.” His eyes scanned everyone nervously. “There’s just a few… details… we need to iron out.”

The nurse nodded briskly. “See that you do.”

Julian reached behind his head and scratched in thought. “Ah, Jezzie, since you and the baby are doing well, we’re going to have to discharge you soon.” She regarded him silently while he paced a step in one direction and then the other. His pleading eyes turned to Garak. “She’s going to need a place to stay. Her and the baby. I-” He made a frustrated noise in his throat. “I don’t know what to do.”

Once again, everyone regarded Garak.

Garak faced Kira. He hadn’t the faintest clue why, but she seemed the most centered person in the room at the moment, and there was literally no one else of higher authority short of Captain Sisko himself.

The major blinked and straightened her neck at finding herself the focus of attention. She raised her eyebrows and held her hands out, palms up. “Larger family quarters?”

Garak and Julian swiveled to each other, locking gazes. Julian looked stunned. Garak wouldn’t have been surprised if he looked the same.

To the side, Kira lifted her padd and started scrolling. “Vilix'pran’s old quarters are still available. He had to relocate to the extended family portion of the habitat ring.” She pursed her lips and muttered to herself. “13 children now. Prophets.” She rotated the device so that everyone else could see the map. “C21-02. Four bedrooms, 2 refreshers. Only three doors down from the O’Briens.”

Garak’s stomach clenched. 

A new home. Moving again. Two children and a baby.

Julian’s voice sounded far away. “How soon could it be ready?”

“The standard furnishings are already there. A couple signatures and a maintenance sweep, and it’s yours. Maybe a half hour at the most if we have someone available.”

Had the room begun to shrink? The walls felt closer than before. Garak needed to get out and walk. To think. To breathe. He needed- “More space.”

Kira bobbed her head in affirmation. “You’ll need it. I’ll get everything in motion.” Her face scrunched up in a mix of confusion and amusement. “Congratulations, I guess. Let me know if you need anything else. And good luck explaining this to the captain.”

Garak was only vaguely aware of the major leaving, or even of everyone packing the room up to relocate. He trailed behind the small train of people, his shoulder bag in one hand and the station’s complimentary gift bag to the new mother and child in the other. He didn’t even remember it being placed in his care. 

The rest of the afternoon passed by in a daze. It mostly consisted of packing everything up into crates in the center of their current living room. As soon as the quarters were bare, the entire pile of belongings was beamed off to its new location, and the place that Garak had just started to grow comfortable with was suddenly bare except for the original furniture. He followed numbly through the corridors and up the turbolift to section C21. The corridors here were more brightly lit, with cheery carpet that was reminiscent of Jake Sisko’s most recent ensemble. The lighting wasn’t doing it any favors.

Julian located 02 easily enough and typed in the entry code. He waved Kulin and Jezzie in with a flourish, and the two youngsters immediately headed for the bedrooms to lay claim. The human took Garak’s hand and tugged him inside with a shy and nervous grin. “What do you think?” he asked with more than a little apprehension.

Garak took a deep breath in and surveyed the main room.

It was spacious. The back windows were wide, with shelves built in underneath that could hold anything from books to plants. The sofa was a large sectional in a Terran “L” shape. He’d heard that the O’Brien’s couch was a gaudy mauve color, but this one was solid black (thank the guls) and almost attractive. There was a dining nook in the corner that looked like something out of a nice restaurant, and the kitchen appeared to be even better equipped than the last one. The carpet was speckled in gray, charcoal, and silver, much less off-putting than what he’d seen in the hall. 

The space he was standing in was probably twice the size of his original quarters.

Exhale. 

It wasn’t bad, actually. 

The designer seemed to have been going for neutral; nothing screamed Federation or Cardassian or even Bajoran in the decor. Just clean, sweeping lines and tasteful arrangements.

A few personal touches, a splash of color here or there with pillows or artwork on the walls, and the place could be… pleasant.

It was going to be without a doubt the nicest place he’d ever lived, a far cry from the basement of Tain’s mansion.

Kulin’s voice echoed from the refresher down the hall. “We have a tub now!”

Julian smiled gently in the direction of the kids, but his face was open concern when he turned to Garak. “Are you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet.” He took his husband’s hand and squeezed it between both of his.

Garak raised his eyebrows in the most truthful expression he could muster. “No, not quite. I don’t know how any of _you_ are, to be honest.”

Julian pulled him closer into an embrace. “I think at the moment we’re all just a little shell-shocked. It’ll take some getting used to.” He drew back so he could cup Garak’s face. “But we have each other, right? We’re still in this together.” 

Garak wrapped a hand around his neck and drew him back in until their foreheads were pressed together. He remembered back to the first time they’d held that pose, how different things had been. And how far they’d come. 

How much his life had changed since Julian had become a part of it.

It had been wonderful, really.

“Yes, my dear. We’re in this together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're looking at once-monthly updates on this fic. I'm dedicated to finishing the final few chapters.


End file.
